Maelström
by shalu
Summary: Jasper's motorcycle breaks down in the pouring rain. A light in the distance leads him to something he thought he lost, but the discovery may drag him under. SLASH, JxE
1. Dark

**Originally written as a drabble for naelany's birthday. She has browbeaten me into continuing the story. This is my first foray into slash, which I never intended to do. So you know, it's her fault. :)**

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Rain had soaked me through. My cellphone was wrecked and my clothes dripping, insulating me with only cold. Not a car to be seen for miles, I walked until I saw lights, shivering the entire way.

Finally, I saw a house at the end of a long driveway edged by a few ancient maple trees. By the time I reached the door, my fingertips had gone numb and my shoulders hurt from hunching over in attempt to retain some heat.

Somewhere behind the door, I heard the soft notes of a what I imagined to be a baby grand floating about the house. Something about the melody was familiar and nearly knocked the wind out of me. For a moment, I forgot about the cold, leaning sideways to press my ear to the wood. A strange pressure began building in my chest, rapidly growing uncomfortable. I stepped back.

Hesitantly, I swung the brass ring in the lion's mouth, striking the plate three times. I felt like an idiot for not checking the weather before heading out on my motorcycle, but I was so antsy to get out, I just left.

The music slowed before it stopped. Footsteps took up the rhythm of the music, getting louder as they reached the door. When it swung open, my heart dropped to my feet.

"Edward."

The first boy I ever kissed. The only person I ever loved.

"Jasper." He stared back at me, mouth agape and his eyes dark and wide. "What are you doing here?"

No sound would come out when I opened my mouth. My heart battered itself against my ribs so hard, I thought he might hear it. "The rain..." I croaked, finally. "My bike..."

He hesitated long enough to make me wonder if he'd even let me use his phone. "Jesus, Jasper, come in," he said, stepping back and to the side to let me in.

I glanced at the rug he stood on and then looked to my boots, muddy with grass clippings stuck to the soles. "I—"

"Just—!" he snapped. "I ... please? Come in, Jasper. Please. You're freezing."

Stepping as gently as I could onto the expensive-looking rug, I kept my eyes on his face — there was something about his eyes I couldn't place, but he wouldn't look at me directly. Guilt seemed to roll off him in waves. Part of me was relieved to know he felt that way, but the rest was overflowing with questions.

After shucking my shoes and placing them by the door, I stood across from him in my damp socks and waited. Without a word, he turned and walked down a hallway to an open door. I followed, whether he meant me to or not; I wasn't sure I cared.

There was a fireplace at the back of the room, unlit, though several candles were spread about the room. To my right, the baby grand I'd heard stood, still humming with his last notes. Suddenly it struck me.

_Lizst's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 5_. Edward had been learning that piece just before...

My attention snapped to Edward, who was staring at me, candlelight flickering in his eyes. They were so dark, they almost looked ... red. Blood red. The deep, vivid green I remember had been consumed ... but by what?

"Edward, what happened to you?"

He was so still, not even blinking. When he finally moved to speak, I startled. "I'll get you some dry clothes."

He disappeared then, but after he left, I noticed a fire had been started. Confused, I didn't know what to think. Before I could ponder too long, Edward had returned with a pair of jeans and a dark sweater, setting them on the chair next to me.

"Thank you," I whispered before he left again, shutting the double doors behind him. I tore off my wet clothes quickly, anxious to get to the part where I found out where he'd been for the last ten years. _He doesn't look a day over eighteen and—_

"Please don't ask me."

I spun to face the door where he stood, eyes showcasing his apparent torment. I buttoned the last of the fly on the jeans and backed over to the fireplace to feel the heat on my back. "Ask you what?"

"What you were thinking of asking." His face seemed to fall even more. "I can't answer."

"Why not? Would you have to kill me?" I smirked, the question an attempt to scare the fear from my heart.

His eyes closed and he shook his head. I saw his lips move, but it was so fast, I was sure my vision had simply gone fuzzy.

"You broke my heart, Edward," I confessed. "I just want to know why."

"Isn't being a moody teenager enough?"

"You still seem moody to me," I reasoned. "And you were never young. Even when you _were _young, you were old."

That earned me a crooked smile. He fought it, but it was there. My heart swelled as my lips mirrored him. I raised an eyebrow. His smile faded.

_Still so stubborn._

"I guess that hasn't changed," he murmured.

"So what happened to you?"

The longest time seemed to pass. It felt like time had stopped in its tracks. If not for the crackling of the fire, there was no evidence of time. I swore Edward hadn't moved a muscle or taken a breath. I began to breathe _for_ him, my nerves pushing me to breathe faster until I had to open my mouth to get enough oxygen.

"Please, Edward." I began to feel cold again, the chill from the rain swirling around me, pulling me down. My body became heavy, gravity's hands gripping me by the shoulders and tugging at me. I could barely stand.

The marble tabletop he clung to with one hand cracked, a huge piece crumbling within his fingers. His anger seemed to slam into me as he replied, his eyes boldly black as night.

"I died."

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**A/N:** I don't know how quickly this will update, but it'll get there. :)


	2. Thunder

**Überthanks to Naelany for your prereading & feedback (as well as the rec on TwiSlash Unveiled!), and to MaleficentKnits for prereading, too. You both have a talent for stroking my ego. Take that however you like. ;) **

**Also, I appreciate all the alerts & faves from new readers. Welcome! I hope you enjoy. **_  


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"I died."_

I almost laughed because the statement seemed ridiculous. However, there was no humor in me at the moment, having fled the moment the door to this house opened. My eyes burned as I stared at him, incredulous and rattled.

I blinked, and he was an arm's length from me, his eyes boring into mine. I startled, my heart leaping into my throat. I fell into the vermilion of his irises, cocooned by a desolate sadness. Tears bloomed and fell over my lower lashes, burning my cheeks. His hatred, his fury corrupted me, coursing through my veins and knocking the wind out of me. Gasping, my labored breaths echoed off the walls, oxygen consumed by the fire behind me ... and in front of me.

But _he_ wasn't breathing. At all.

"What ...?" My voice wheezed before cracking and disappearing, confusion drifting in front of my eyes like a fog.

"I don't hate you," he declared, his voice beautifully painful, grinding like bone on bone. "I could never hate you."

I let my eyelids drop to create the illusion of space between us, in attempt to find an anchor. My world was spinning around me, my equilibrium staggering with vertigo. It didn't matter; I could still feel him, smell him. What happened to him may still be a mystery to me, but his scent was stronger than ever. I could still feel his arms around me, his lips at my ear, brushing along the shell as he whispered he loved me. Inhaling deeply, I separated the notes of earth, fresh laundry, musk and rain. Everything I remembered exacerbated and magnified, sweetened by whatever it was that was Edward himself.

Something desperate and wounded, buried beneath years of avoidance, sent shockwaves through my body and propelled me forward. Barely opening my eyes, I crashed my lips to his and begged him for answers with mine, my hands weaving into his hair.

But it was a mistake.

Having thrown myself forward, he was somehow unaffected by my body's momentum. My lower lip split as my teeth sliced into it on impact, salt and iron pulsing over the torn flesh. I didn't care so much about the injury, but something was very wrong. Icy fingers curled around my wrists, easily pulling my hands away from him. I realized then that his lips were cold, his face, too. I felt as if I'd collided with a graveyard angel.

Stepping backward, I opened my eyes. Edward's body was visibly shaking, restraining an internal stampede threatening to trample me. "Ed—"

He threw my hands away from him; they slapped my thighs with an unexpected force. A growl ripped through him like thunder, preempting a flash of lightning outside. His face was truly illuminated for the first time since he opened the door, and I could really see him. But a split second after the electric light washed across the room, he vanished from that spot.

Alone again, but even more lost, I coughed and rasped, trying to regain my breath. At the same time, my mind couldn't help but to reflect on the details the lightning had spotlighted. Extraordinarily pale, he was perfect. I was mistaken in saying he didn't look a day over eighteen—he appeared a little younger, really. His face, though always the most beautiful to me, was flawless. Unnaturally so.

I thought back to how it had hurt to slam into him. His body, his face ... he had felt like stone, smoothed and polished by a thousand years of rushing rapids. There was an impossible softness under my fingertips that belied the impermeable surface.

"Edward?" I croaked, disoriented. I moved away from the fire, the skin on my back tingling with the flush of the extreme heat.

_I must be in a dream. Or more accurately, a nightmare._

It wasn't the first time I would have dreamed of him, and certainly not the last. But it was the most vivid.

Without warning, my head and back struck the wall between the window and the corner of the mantle, a cold hand shackling my neck. Rapidly blinking, I tried to clear my vision to focus on Edward's face, so close, so ... tormented. His eyes flicked to my lips. "You ... I can't ... explain."

My eyebrows knitted together. I was beyond understanding what was happening, what I was doing here—any of it. I struggled against him, but it was futile. I tried to speak, but the pressure on my throat was too much, I sputtered and choked. After a moment, I was able to manage a "please" before I gave up. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they seemed to plead with me for forgiveness.

Memories flooded me, blurring my view and trapping me in the past.

_"I can't tell my father," Edward said, his lips trailing along my chin. "He'll disown me."_

_I sighed, what little I knew of his father forcing me to agree. "What about your mother?"_

_He pulled back, his forehead resting on mine, his slender fingers gripping my sides above my hips. "Please don't talk about my mother when I'm kissing you."_

_I smirked. "You're not kissing me anymore."_

_His lips curled briefly then flattened to a grim line. "I can't be myself with my parents. My mother would be fine, I think, but _Edward, Sr._ would rather—"_

_I cut him off, silencing him with a lingering kiss. "Edward, I love you. I want you however I can get you. I'm willing to compromise ... for a while."_

_He pushed away from me, running his hand through his hair angrily. "I don't _want_ you to compromise. That's not fair," he grumbled, laying on his back and glaring at the ceiling. I sat up and leaned against my headboard, frustrated. "What did _your_ dad say when you told them?"_

_I laughed dryly, somehow able to find humor in hindsight. "He got up from the table, walked out and went straight to the bar down the street."_

_"What happened after that?"_

_"He came back three hours later, shitfaced, and asked if I was going to dress like a woman and shave my legs."_

_Edward's gorgeous laugh rung out, filling my room with warmth and comfort, despite the strain of his situation. "He did not!"_

_"I wish I was kidding," I admitted. "But the point is, he was ignorant and in shock. He spent hours spilling his guts to the bartender, who turned out to be gay. He made my dad ask him questions—any question he wanted. It will probably be the only form of therapy my father will ever consent to. Of course, his questions focused on drag queens. Personally, I think my dad has a closet fetish. Literally."_

_Edward's laughter deepened, his hand slapping at me. "You are lying," he accused, finally reduced to giggles._

_"The dude put him in his place, is all I'm saying." I scooted back down so I was side by side with him. Settling my palm on his chest, my cheek against his shoulder, I continued. "My point is he had to get used to the idea. I shifted his view of the world, and while it wasn't my problem, I had to give him time to adjust, too. He didn't hate me, not at any point, but he was threatened by how little he thought he understood me. In the past few months, we've regained a lot of ground in our relationship. My mom is almost jealous."_

_He turned his head to face me, his green eyes darkening. "I wish I wasn't so scared, Jasper. You deserve bet—"_

_I kissed him, refusing his shame. "I want _you_."_

_I thought that would bring out a smile, but his expression fell under the weight of hopelessness._

"I'm sorry, Jasper." His voice was tight, barely controlled.

I snapped back to the present, realizing his hands were at his sides and he had backed away several feet. I rubbed at my throat, relishing the relief, but somehow mourning the loss of contact, despite the aggression. "Okay," I responded roughly. "I—"

"You can stay until the storm lets up, but then you have to go. I'll have your bike picked up and taken somewhere to be fixed."

I stared at him, rage bubbling up and twisting around my spine. I felt myself stretch taller with every breath I took. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

A humorless laugh tickled my eardrum. "You have no idea how easy it would be," he muttered, his eyes flat. And black. _Black?_

"What happened to your eyes? They were _red_, and now they're ... black. All black, l-like night..." I stared, hoping he would tell me something, _anything_.

"I'm hungry," he confessed, the words abrasive in his throat. I had to admit, if only to myself, that it turned me on. His lips flattened to a thin line, and he forced any air from his longs, clamping his jaw shut. He spoke through gritted teeth, "Please stop ... I—I can't."

_Is he ...? Does he ... want me, too?_

"YES, Jasper, for chrissakes," he hissed, his jaw still tense and immobile.

_It's like he can read my mind. That is—_

"Fucked up. Yes, it is, but I can, and you're not making it easy to ignore you."

I almost laughed at his annoyance, but I was too fucking overwhelmed to process so much at once. I exploded. "So don't! I mean, start somewhere, will you? Edward, you said that you _died_. I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about!"

A nearly imperceptible smirk lifted the corner of his mouth.

Increasingly frustrated, I pinched the bridge of my nose, a habitual action I must have picked up from him all those years ago. "You're listening to my thoughts, apparently, and speaking in fragments. This is all so surreal, I'm wondering if I crashed my bike and this is some sort of twisted purgatory."

The smirk got bigger, but his eyes burned with bitterness.

"You want me gone, but you don't?" I yelled, exasperated. My voice had gone hoarse. I tried to clear my throat, but it was scratchy and painful—not unlike the last hour in this room. "I don't know how you expect me to act, Edward! What more do you want?"

Instantly, he was standing nose to nose with me. "I want to kill you."


	3. Lightning

**Sorry for the delay! Unintentional:) Thanks to Nae and Mal for your prereading & encouragement. Without further ado ...**

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"I want to kill you."_

His eyes told me he wasn't lying. Not in the least. He did indeed want to kill me. I was so perplexed by the avalanche of violence crumbling off of him, I couldn't do anything but wrap my tangled curls around my fingers and tug. And laugh.

It began low and small, but layered upon itself, building slowly into a full-bodied cackle. I sounded insane, and I was sure the pressure and tension of the situation had broken me. The strange reaction had taken over, and I couldn't stop, not for several minutes. Edward backed up, his expression of fury and want and sadness eroding of detail until it was as vague and arcane as the Sphinx's.

The crazy, yet awful feeling finally subsided, and I swallowed painfully, trying to soothe my throat. It didn't work, but I refused to ask him for water. A vicious anger had filled the void left by the incredulous laughter.

"You want to kill me?" I repeated, sarcasm thick on my tongue. "Well, that's fantastic. You know what, Edward? _Do it_. Really! Just do me a fav—"

"Don't," he growled. "Don't joke, Jasper. You don't know what you're talking about."

"No fucking shit, Edward," I snarled. "I'm not the _mind reader_."

That still didn't make any sense. Edward had always been intuitive, but it followed suit that he would be; the kid had always been very intelligent.

I didn't know what to think. Logic had ceased to be of any help in putting this fucked up puzzle together, but I was so fucking exhausted by this point, my thoughts were too crooked and disjointed anyway. Jolts of pain throbbed at my temples as images of red eyes and white teeth and icy fingers and stormy skies flashed behind my eyes, continuing the assault on my senses. I closed my eyes tightly, feeling a bit woozy all of a sudden. My stomach felt hollow, my throat sharp and sore.

"You should rest," he said quietly. "There are several rooms upstairs. You can have your pick of them. I don't have any ... food, but I can get you some water."

I wanted to refuse it. All of it. My instinct was to walk out the door, brave the rain, and find my way to the next house, town, or any other sign of civilization, no matter how far it was. But I couldn't move.

"You should."

"STOP IT," I hissed. My teeth clenched and ground together so hard, it hurt. I winced, reaching one hand to rub at my jaw. Every nerve ending burned as though exposed, my thoughts on display for him as I struggled to break from a cognitive deadlock.

He looked minutely ashamed, but I had a feeling it wasn't because of his ability in general, but because it was me. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's just habit. I'll try harder."

Running my hands through my hair, I warred with myself for a few minutes, feeling the scrutiny of his gaze as he watched me. Looking in his eyes, I saw a sliver of hope reflected. It threw me off, especially given his reluctance to tell me anything. My mind went blank, and for a little while, I was relieved. A foreign sense of peace rushed through my veins, cooling my overheated patience.

We stared at each other for God only knows how long, but when my stomach rumbled, an echo of its growl bouncing off the marble and oak, the spell was broken.

I blinked and looked at the floor. I realized I was only half-dressed and cold. I reached for the sweater he'd brought me, pulling it quickly over my head. I wanted to believe I heard a disappointed sigh escape Edward's cold lips, but I pushed the thought away.

The frustrating, anxious feeling dropped back into my stomach, twisting it into knots. Someone else's heart was beating beneath my ribs; it felt foreign and unnatural.

For the first time since I arrived, my mind jumped to Alice. The knots grew stronger, steeping in guilt, as I knew she was expecting me sometime within the hour. Suddenly, I felt caged, but by what, I wasn't sure.

I thought of how her smile would have instantly warmed me when she answered the door, little Rosie bouncing on her hip, drooling all over one of her favorite blouses—not that she'd have it any other way. Rosie's chubby little arms would have reached out, her tiny fingers grasping at air as she called to me, "DA!" And I would have smiled, heart swelling at the display of the tiny girl's love for me.

Instead, I was cold, and my heart was broken.

Ever more restless now, my thoughts began to swirl incoherently as my eyes burned and my toes twitched.

An unsettling rumble reverberated quietly through the room, distracting me from internal chaos and bringing me back to the present. Unsure where the sound originated, I looked to the window in time to witness a streak of lightning meeting the exposed roots of a tree a few hundred yards from the house. I thought perhaps the lights might flicker, but upon glancing around the room, I was reminded that any illumination was by candles.

Finding Edward's eyes again, I saw they had not left me. But they were not as hopeful or gentle as they'd been a minute before. They were turbulent, angry ... hurt?

Maybe I'd just been projecting. I couldn't trust what I felt, it seemed. _If the eyes are the window to the soul, and that window is black as night, what can you really expect to see?_

Doubt just another kink to the chain of indiscernible emotions and pieces funneling wildly about my head, preventing me from finding any clarity at the moment. All I could sense was his resistance to me, his irritation. The idea that I was any sort of inconvenience to him at all crushed me, though I was not surprised by it. He was the one who disappeared. He broke _my_ heart. Yet, for me to show up on his doorstep was somehow more painful for him.

"I–" he began to protest, I was sure. I couldn't listen.

"No, no—I wouldn't want to cause you any more _grief_, Edward," I said through clenched teeth, my gaze dropped to glimpse my bare toes trying to dig through the hardwood floor. I grabbed my wallet and keys off the side table, before I stalked out past him. My eyes trailed along the ground as I headed toward the foyer. I forcefully pulled on my boots and yanked the door open, staring at the darkness outside.

_Not much friendlier inside_, I thought before feeling the cold stone pavers beneath my boots. I soon reached the gravel trail to the road, sharp pellets of rain breaking on my face and the formerly dry (and borrowed) clothes. Massive tree boughs waved and bent above me, frantically bowing to the demands of gusting winds. The same winds pushed and knocked at me, but my body felt oblivious to the elements. I had begun to go numb, and not from cold. My heart was suddenly frail, bruised, and unprotected.

The house behind me seemed to cling to my back as if I were weighted, or tethered to it. Every step farther was incrementally more difficult than the last. By the time I reached the road, something forced me to stop. I realized I was panting, gasping for breath. Dizziness gripped me as I felt myself waver, my feet widening their stance to find a new balance. I missed a step and fell backward.

He caught me.

I couldn't comprehend how he was there—I hadn't heard him behind me. Then again, I wasn't listening for him. I closed my eyes as he lifted me effortlessly, cradling me, but in less than a second, that embrace—the solid, cool support of his arms and chest—was gone, given way to the cushion of a fairly uncomfortable leather sofa. I slowly opened my lids to see I'd been set in front of the fire. I had felt the air of the house sliding quickly over my face, but to have moved so fast?

"I need to eat," he announced, a bite to his tone. "I know you do, too, but I can't do anything for you until I ... take care of my own needs."

When I didn't respond, except to glare at him and his carefully constructed excuse, he disappeared. I shut my eyes, noting the decrease in surprise at his inhuman exit. Scooting down so I could rest my head back against the armrest, I inhaled deeply, but was unable to get a full breath. A low click sounded behind me and I jumped, sitting back up and twisting to see Edward had set a large glass of water on the table behind me.

"Drink." He swallowed hard. "I'll be back in an hour."

His face was impassive, but I thought I picked up an air of remorse. I still said nothing, but looked him in the eye, waiting. Either he would leave to _take care of his hunger_, as he put it, or he would explain. Something.

He looked down, his forehead wrinkling in a scowl. "I can't, Jasper. You don't ... you _can't_ know what kind of base demon I've become."

Not moving or replying, I waited.

He sucked in a breath, and the need to do so seemed to surprise him; his lips parted and his eyes went wider. I kept my expression neutral, thinking my lack of reaction would push him one way or the other from the balance of his restraint. My borrowed clothes were now damp with rain as well, and the soggy cashmere and denim were beginning to chill. I stood and walked to the fire, sitting cross-legged on the marble precipice, my back to the flames.

His attention followed me, resting back on my face after I'd stilled, leaning on my right hand for support. I focused on the skewed reflection of flames off the black of his gaze. As the heat licked at my back, we settled into another silence, and to my surprise, my muscles started to relax.

Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was exhaustion, I couldn't be sure, but with that rigidity ebbing away, my mind was freed if just a little. Fragments began to piece together as I watched, a bystander to my own thoughts. Everything I'd seen—red eyes, black, unnatural strength and speed—every particle of the whole molded itself together, spinning. Each one of the few words he'd spoken funneled down the center until it all clicked together, its genesis consumed by a flash of white light.

I didn't believe it could really be, but my bones told me I was right. The singular word echoed through my head for a long, silent minute before it rushed past both of our lips in synchronous whispers.

"Vampire."

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**A/N**: More of the Alice story is still to unfold, in case you're wondering. Thanks for reading!


	4. Clouds

_"Vampire."_

"That's not possible," I said hoarsely, my voice stuck in my throat. I could hear my words, but they sounded removed. "I ... I don't understand ..."

I was drowning in disbelief, as every contradiction and over-analytical thought circled viciously in my mind. Suddenly, my back felt as though it'd caught fire, and I jumped to my feet, stepping away from the fireplace.

"You said it yourself, Jasper," he challenged quietly, moving backward as I'd moved forward. I sensed in him a glimmer of hope coupled with derision as he continued. "Obviously, you believe—on some level—that it is possible."

I couldn't help but to glare. An amused smirk tugged at his lips, lifting one corner. It was a shadow of the Edward I loved: cocky and playful when you least expected it. In that moment, I mourned him. Again.

The loss I felt when he'd disappeared, or whatever had actually happened, was immense and immobilizing.  
_  
I thought he was simply avoiding me. After a couple of weeks of unreturned calls to his personal line, I plucked up the courage to call his parents directly. _  
_  
"Hello." His father's clipped greeting was not even a question; it was closed and stony._

_"Mr. Masen, sir? This is Jasper Whitlock, I'm a friend of—"_

_"Yes, I know who you are," he interrupted, and I detected a strain of animosity in his voice. "He's not here."_

_The curtness stunned me a little bit, and my mouth hung open, empty and silent for a few moments. Even though I knew his father was uptight and pretty unfriendly in general, whenever I'd come face to face with his attitude, it still threw me._

_"Um, yes, hello, sir. I just ... I haven't been able to get a hold of him for a couple weeks now and—"_

_Edward, Sr., was in no mood for stories, and steamrolled over my explanation with an unexpected tirade. "Listen, son," he condescended, his volume rising with anger, "I don't know where the hell he is. He took off two weeks ago, and we haven't heard from him since. As a matter of fact, I don't care if he ever comes back."_

_I stared at the receiver for nearly an hour, the "off-the-hook" beep slapping me in the face. Fear and anxiety rippled through me as the bottom seemed to drop out of my life. That was the last time I spoke to the Masens and the first day I considered Edward was never coming back. _

The floor seemed to move under my feet as I stumbled forward, aiming to land on the couch. Before the leather was even beneath my fingers, Edward's arms were around me, saving me from falling. Our faces were inches apart, and I had to fight tears.

My eyes burned, and my temper flared. I hated that I was so emotional, and it forced anger to the surface in resentment. I couldn't deny, however, the torrent of emotions raging within me. _Just breathe,_ I told myself. _Even Rosie doesn't cry this much._

With that thought, Edward dropped me and shot across the room, cracking the wall with the force of his momentum. I hit my jaw on the armrest as I fell and bit my tongue. Instantly, a metallic taste hit my tastebuds, the sharp pang of the injury pulsing with every heartbeat. I felt a trickle trail from the corner of my mouth, my tongue clearing it away quickly. Awkwardly, I picked myself up and turned around to sit on the large settee. Looking over at him, I almost thought he was panting for breath, but really, I could feel him battling something like physical pain.

"You need to leave," he growled, his fingers puncturing holes in the antique tapestry that hung behind him. "I can't have you here. I won't—"

"Make up your mind," I snapped in response, the sting of the bite intensifying with every syllable. I quickly learned to ignore it as I struggled to swallow the taste of blood. "'Stay, rest,' you say. Now it's 'Go away.' Why don't you tell me something, Edward? Ask me something? I'm doing my damnedest to assimilate this folkloric bitchslap, but you seem to be working just as hard to make it more difficult. Quit tap-dancing around whatever it is that's driving your mercurial moodswings and spit it out! You were always a temperamental prick, but I still loved you ..."

My words trailed off as the sentiment spilled forth. I hadn't meant to say it, but there it was. How I'd felt about him wasn't a secret, but I hadn't yet said as much.

Rushing forward in that otherworldly speed, Edward crouched over me, his hands crushing the the back of the couch with an intense pressure. I thought he might snap the frame.

"I. Loved. You." The words struggled their way through his teeth. His sharp, white teeth. I found myself staring at them, looking for fangs, or bloodstains, wondering how many lives have been cut by those teeth.

He sighed dismally and stood, looking toward the windows again. "I don't have fangs," he snapped, walking around the side toward the fireplace.

"I'm sorry," I said, not really knowing why I was apologizing. "But, like I said, you're not giving me much to work with here."

"What is this?" he snarled, spinning on his heel to face me. "A nostalgic, let's-get-reacquainted chitchat? Cuppa coffee and a quick summary and bio of the last ten years? I'm a monster, Jasper. That's all you need to know." His small rant was heated, but underlined with self-disgust.

My mind churned with angry, resentful replies, but I couldn't find the energy to take aim. He was probably listening in, anyway. My heart tripped over a beat, stuttering in an intense rhythm in response to the jagged surges of adrenaline over the past ... however long I'd been here. He moved as if he was going to leave the room, but I refused to let the evening end there.

"Edward," I pleaded softly, before he could run out again. "A monster doesn't feel pain. A demon does not feel remorse. I can't believe that you are either of those things. You're so much more tha—"

"Stop absolving me of guilt!" he bellowed, his frustration ricocheting off the high ceilings. "It's easy to believe in my humanity when you haven't a clue about my crimes against it."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the back of the couch, taking a moment and a breath before speaking again. "I'm not judging you, Edward. I'm telling you what I see."

He huffed. "Your vision is skewed."

"You're not evil."

He coughed a short, humorless laugh. "I take that back; you're _blind_."

My eyes rolled in their sockets. He was always stubborn, and I saw this supernatural Edward was nothing different. In fact, it seemed to have exacerbated the trait. Many of his inherent facets, actually.

"I can't argue with you anymore right now. I'm nauseated because I haven't eaten since this morning, yet I have no appetite. And I'm exhausted. If I can just fall asleep, I can forget about the pangs in my stomach," I said. My eyes snapped open when I remembered ... "And I know you need to ... eat."

I swallowed hard, unsure what to think. All the mythical associations with vampires rushed in, shrouding my vision. Everything was cartoonish and campy. I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, sending all the ridiculous and strange visions out with it. "So, uh ... can we just call it a night?"

Silence blanketed us, the crackling of the fire being the only evidence that time hadn't frozen. I lifted my head to find him hovering over me, his nose nearly touching mine as he stared. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth together.

"I _am_ hungry," he admitted. "Don't you want to know what ... or _who_, in particular, I'll be dining on?"

He didn't blink, his wide blackened eyes burning holes through mine. I glared back with as much energy as I had—which, admittedly, wasn't much.

"You could do me the courtesy of giving me a heads up if it's me," I deadpanned. I couldn't really wrap my head around why he was doing this now, or why I was goading him back. "I'll stick an apple in my mouth or something."

One side of his mouth snagged with amusement, dragging upwards but immediately faded. I saw a flash in his eyes, but I couldn't identify what it was. Was it a reflection? A ghost? An illusion? I felt pressure on my chest, and my head began to pound.

"So flippant and reckless with your life," he mused, his voice sharp and cutting. "You forget I've tasted your blood."

Holding his gaze, I recalled biting my lip earlier. There was weight in his threat, though I wasn't sure how serious he was. My veins bubbled with enmity and bitterness.

"Do you want more?" I asked, my voice hostile. My hands pressed into the back of the couch, forcing my body toward him slowly. He retreated, but maintained the short distance between us. Soon, I was on my feet, and we were nose to nose. "I've got more than a gallon."

Despite the day's drain on my energy and everything I was feeling, something emboldened me, shoving me forward. Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was a broken heart bent on revenge. Maybe ... maybe I just didn't care anymore.

"Why would you offer it to me?" He sounded genuinely confused, but his tone was patronizing. "What would Rosie do if I took it? She'd—"

"Don't even mention ..." I warned, bubbling over with fury as my voice wavered. My fists clenched at my sides, my jaws locked, and my skin flushed hot.

"Or Alice? Sweet, little Alice. Wouldn't she be crushed to know—"

I sucked in a breath that stopped his words, but I held it, wondering if I let go, it would unleash ... something. But what could I do to hurt him? Probably nothing. The churning rage inside me had reached its peak, but I didn't explode. I stilled, the ire dispersing and washing across my skin as my body decided my next move for me.

Edward had stopped as I had, but remained at a very close proximity. I stepped forward, closing my lips over his. They were cool and smooth, unyielding yet malleable as he responded by moving with me. I admit I was surprised at the way he seemed to allow me to guide us in a kiss, given the spite tarnishing his actions and words.

There was a mild sweetness on his lips, balanced with a hint of salt, but maybe that was the blood left in my mouth. I wanted to forget that this wasn't real, wasn't just Edward and me, ten years later, reconnecting. I thrust my tongue through his slightly parted lips, scraping it along his teeth. His sharp, white teeth.

I had barely registered the fresh bloom of iron and salt when Edward returned the kiss in earnest, sucking viciously on the new surface wounds. I realized this was what I intended. I _wanted_ him to taste my blood, to push him further—as though I could gain control by losing it. The world spun around me as I grasped for any understanding of what I felt.

His hands held my face as he fed—if only a tease for his appetite. His tongue swept my mouth, sending shivers of both cold and excitement spiraling down my spine. The kiss was strong and painful, but left me equally turned on and frightened.

In some ways, it was giving me back the piece of my heart he'd taken with him. Or mending the tear in my soul that he'd made when he left.

But I could feel his frenzy, his desperation, like that of an addict who'd found a delayed fix. It was the newer, darker part of Edward that I didn't know at all, regardless of who he was ten years ago. And _that_ scared me. It forced my family and friends back to the forefront of my mind. I thought about what he said about Alice and Rosie, and I got angry again, shoving at his chest.

Something snapped, and he woke from his brief fever. He panted like an animal and leveled his eyes at me. The irises were edged in dark red.

"You shouldn't have done that."

* * *

**A/N**: The usual adoring thanks to nae and Mal... Aisle of ewes.


	5. Vortex

_"You shouldn't have done that."_

I had no response. Still gasping for breath, I tried to be still as my muscles thrummed with adrenaline, but it was impossible. I was vibrating, my anger palpable and thick. I didn't know if he could sense that or not, because no thought in my mind was clear. When the next words flew from my mouth unbidden, it surprised us both.

"Never. Threaten. My family." My voice was low, singed with pure fury. "Never."

His eyes went wide as his tongue slipped out and swept across his lips, searching for remnants of me, my iron and salt. His mouth fell open, and I thought he would speak. He didn't. My attention locked on the minimal accent of blood blurring the border of his irises. I tried to glare, but once inside the circle of crimson, I could see _him_ again. _My_ Edward. And it nearly stopped my heart.

I released a sigh that seemed to pull from my toes to the tip of my skull, the hostility beginning to ebb ever so slightly. However, I was unwilling to allow my feelings for who he was derail me. The kiss had pushed him. He slipped, but he didn't crack.

I had to push harder.

"I may not be able to hurt you physically, Edward," I began, not really knowing how this was going to end. "I know you still care about me, or I'm sure I'd already be dead."

His eyes narrowed at me as he took his time to reply. "I won't deny that."

"So," I continued, feeling doubt flicker in the back of my throat, "the only thing I could do to hurt _you_ ... would be to hurt myself ...?"

A beautiful, furrowing brow hovered tentatively above dark, confused eyes—a storm of old and new, good and evil thrashing and thundering within the infinite, yet contained space. I could almost feel him rooting around in my brain, looking for exactly what I intended to do, but I blocked him with images of mile-high castle walls, ancient stones stacked strong and absolute.

I reached for the water he'd brought, raising it to my lips to drink. I winced, having forgotten my split lip, but ignoring the sting as the cool water flowed over the scrapes in my tongue. Never did I take my gaze away from his, and never could I drop the walls.

When the glass was empty, I walked toward the fire, facing him with every step. I threw the glass at the front prongs of the grate, listening to it shatter. He seemed to freeze with realization as I stooped to pick up the closest shard. I held the piece to my arm, my expression entirely neutral as I pictured it dragging through the pale skin, slicing open a vein.

"STOP!" he shouted at me. I felt the break in his spirit—I could see it in the slump of his shoulders. For some reason, I was enraged.

"Stop? You tell me to _stop_?" My arms fell to my sides and I sucked in a breath to temper the acidity and mocking in my tone.

"Goddammit, Jasper, please ... why torture me?"

I couldn't believe my ears. I gaped at him for what had to be a full minute. "Torture you?" I laughed bitterly. "You think I'm enjoying this?"

Stomping over to where he'd remained rooted to the floor, I brought myself within inches of him.

"You've sewn my heart back together only to destroy it, Edward," I hissed, my breath bouncing off his face, anger leaking from the corners of my eyes. "It may never beat again. I can't believe you hurt more than I do. I love you ... and I hate you."

My throat was raw, my body weak. Dizziness twirled me into vertigo, and I stumbled backward a few steps.

Defeated, darkness crept in the corners of my vision as I pulled my last card. I held up the glass that was pressing sharply into my palm, intending to slash it across my arm and inciting the barely-restrained hunger in him. In that unnatural speed he possessed, the piece was out of my hands before I could feel him steal it away. A blink later, I was watching the dust fall from between his fingers.

"I love you," he confessed, speaking so quietly, his eyes conveying a depth of sadness I'd not yet seen. Guilt overwhelmed me, and the last of the light was consumed.

As consciousness slipped away, I heard him whisper, "And I hate you."

OoOoOoOoOoO

_"Jasper, you have to pull yourself out of this funk," Alice demanded, as gently as she could—which, despite her small stature, was not all that gentle._

_"I just don't understand," I replied, aware of how whiny it sounded. "How could it not have worked?"_

_The tiny one huffed, damn near stomping a petulant foot. "It was just the first time! As much as it seems to happen to fifteen-year-olds, it's still rare to get pregnant the first time you try."_

_I looked at her, shocked that she wasn't a little more heartbroken. "I'm sorry, darlin'," I told her, frowning._

_She rolled her eyes and plopped herself in my lap. "We're not giving up yet, sweets. I wasn't expecting it to work the first time. Besides, Doctor Cullen told us it could take multiple tries."_

_I nodded, accepting that she was right, but I didn't have to like it. My body relaxed as she stroked my hair, my hands responding by rubbing her back. Just then, Emmett burst through the door._

_"Baby?" he bellowed the one-word question, his eyes wide as he unceremoniously dropped his messenger bag by the door. "I repeat, Captain! DO. WE. HAVE. BEBEH!"_

_Alice stood and walked slowly over to him, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, TeddyBear," she cooed, wrapping her arms around his waist. "No go. The communists are in the funhouse."_

_I felt my heart drop as his face fell._

_"I guess I should stop swinging by the toy store every day during lunch," he mumbled, fake sarcasm barely masking his disappointment._

_"Please," Alice agreed, mirth apparent in her tone. She rested her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. "The nursery is almost full, and we've yet to make the kid that's gonna play with all that stuff!"_

_Bending down to kiss her forehead, he smiled, but it was a little dim. He sighed, threw me a wink, and went and grabbed his bag off the floor. Rooting through the front pocket, he pulled out a small object. Something was off about it, though, and my stomach suddenly tied itself into knots._

_He shifted his gaze to me. "A friend of yours dropped this off to me," he said, his normal bounce and brightness reinvigorating his tone. His eyes however, had turned black. "Said you asked him for it."_

_He tossed the item to me, and as it landed in my hands, I could see that it was a pacifier covered in blood. My breathing began to speed as I panicked, turning it over in my shaking hands._

_When I looked up again, Edward stood in front of me, a wicked smile on his face. He licked his lips, bounced a single eyebrow, and attacked. _

As I startled awake, my hand flew to my sternum, fingers pressing against a festering ache. Images from the dream danced before my eyes, but I had no idea how to process them. My hollow stomach fluttered with anxiety and unrest, my body barely refreshed from however long I'd slept. The sky outside was just beginning to show the approach of dawn, so I wagered it was almost six.

I sat up slowly, trying to unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Turning to swing my legs over the side, I saw a small table in front of me. My eyes trickled over an empty glass, a pitcher of water, and a platter with steak, a baked potato and all the trimmings. I couldn't help but to stare at it in confusion, as Edward had said he didn't have any food here.

_Did he go drain a cow, and bring the carcass back for me?_ I thought laughingly.

"I'm glad you have a sense of humor about all this."

I twisted around to see Edward standing between the open double doors. His tone was dry, crackling with the ever-present bitterness.

"And no, I didn't drain a cow," he spat. "I rarely resort to animals."

I watched his face as he let the statement hang in the air. Blinking, I turned away from him to look at the meal in front of me. Even though I was starving, I still had no appetite. I knew, however, if I could just force myself to eat a bit, I might feel better. I tried to ignore him watching me, listening to me, and started carving up the filet. One bite and I couldn't stop the moan.

"Fuck me, is this Kobe beef?"

I looked to see a smirking Edward. "No, and yes."

I froze for a moment before a subtle smile stretched my lips. Amused by his backhanded flirtation, I searched his eyes and found them now fully red, bright with no traces of black in the iris. _No longer hungry, _I noted_. _Turning back to my food with a minute shrug, I tried to ignore the way he watched me eat. It was a little intense and unnerving not knowing what he was thinking right now, especially since I had no idea how much he was listening to my thoughts. As I ate, I did my best to focus on the food, not allowing my mind to wander too far.

"Who is Emmett?" he asked, after a long stretch of quiet.

The latest mouthful went down rough, an uncomfortable sensation clawing its way down my throat. First taking a cleansing breath, I then looked up and scanned him. Eyes soft, body slumped in the chair, hands clasped over his ribs. He was genuinely curious, but attempting to hide the jealousy motivating the question. He was forcing a casual posture, an indication of the tension I knew he was carrying.

"What happened to you?" I countered, sitting back against the couch and crossing my arms in challenge.

He looked me over, narrowing his eyes, and huffed. Edward had always hated not getting his way, and he wasn't about to right now.

"You see what's happened to me," he snapped. "I'm asking about _you_."

I shook my head in frustration, leaning forward over my plate and resuming the meal as if I'd not been interrupted. If he wanted to fuck around avoiding my questions, I sure as hell going to avoid his.

My teeth ground and tore through the few remaining bites of the tender meat. I did my best to maintain an agonizingly slow pace, pretending to savor each piece, and acting as though I were alone in the room. That was how I felt, anyway.

I felt farther from him than I did when he'd disappeared, and that was saying something. I didn't think it was possible. That awful, cliché truth, "so close, yet so far away" never hurt so much.

He'd said he "died," yet here he was as though alive. He told me he could never hate me ... and then came the words. I'd said the same, but I hadn't given thought to how it felt to hear them. Conflicting emotions were warring in us both—the way he volleyed from resistance to accommodation was dizzying. He used to chide me for being sensitive, but there was too much warmth in those playful jabs.

As it was now, each of us was left with little room to consider acting with compassion, only spite. I was on my side, and he was on his.

The food had gone bland, I found as I scooped up another bite. I couldn't taste any of it, now that we were playing this tug of war. He was trying to freeze me out, but it wasn't going to work. I knew how stubborn he was, but I also knew that I could wait him out.

He stood suddenly a few minutes later, the chair flying backwards as though he'd kicked it. It left a gouge in the wall at least a foot across. Involuntarily, I'd jumped at the noise and immediately snapped my attention to his face. His jaw was flexing, and I almost grinned in triumph.

But, really, what had I won? Nothing. In fact, I probably lost more with each tiny victory.

Staring at me for the longest time, he finally moved, pacing across the marble slate in front of the darkened fireplace. Back and forth, he went for a number of minutes, I watched, no longer touching my food. I placed the silverware criss-crossed on the plate and sat back.

I could feel his reluctant agreement snapping in the air like pinpricks of electricity, stabbing at the topmost layer of my skin. The expression on my face softened into the most empathic display I could muster. I folded my hands in my lap and waited.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed before he finally stopped wearing the floor thin and gripped the mantle, his back to me. My heart thundered, reacting to the wounds he must be reopening. His pain seemed to shoot through me, making my entire body ache.

"I came out to my father," he began, voice so quiet, I had to strain to hear, "and he tried to kill me."

* * *

**A/N**: Nae & Mal, XOXOXOXOXO infinity. Thanks for reading ...


	6. Swim

**Sorry it's been so long; November was ... yeah. Hope you're still with us?**

* * *

_"I came out to my father," he began, his voice so quiet, I had to strain to hear, "and he tried to kill me."_

My stomach plummeted to my toes as confusion marred my face. He still wouldn't look at me, but it was nearly another minute before he continued. He finally dropped his hands from the mantle, which surprisingly had not cracked.

"I asked to speak to him alone, first," he explained, leaving a long pause before continuing. "My mother looked worried, but I smiled and asked her to wait. She agreed, but reluctantly, going outside to water the garden. After she'd left, he and I sat down at the kitchen table.

"I didn't build up, sugarcoat it, or pad it with some sob story about how difficult it'd been for me to admit—I just said, 'Dad, I'm gay.'"

Another interminably extended and uncomfortable silence grew as though he was reliving the memory as he spoke. A dull sort of agony washed over me, his despondency palpable as I watched him grip his hair with his hands. Somehow, the tiniest of smiles pinched my cheeks, memories of the gesture replaying in my head. My fingers twitched, remembering the feel of his locks between them, the pads of each digit rubbing at his scalp to calm whatever stress had set him off. Before I could register the sensation of my stomach dropping painfully with another realization of my loss, his bitter voice cut through the cloud.

"In retrospect, I suppose a little preemptive bullshit may have gone a long way. Maybe not. It doesn't really matter now, as what does regret get you?"

Turning to face me, finally, his gaze bore into mine — not to read me, my thoughts, or even my body language. His eyes were rueful, both wavering animosity and self-hatred evident, leaving me wholly confused.

"Nothing but grief," he whispered, answering his own question.

_Does he regret being with me at all? Or maybe he just wishes he never opened the door to me ..._

My entire body seemed to sink under a lead weight, an albatross of my own malaise marrying his. Part of me was irrationally livid, feeling his blame slapping me across each cheek, but the other just wanted him to fall into my arms and let me hold him until it all passed — if it even could. As much as I wanted to interrupt so I could argue, or even just acknowledge his struggle, I wanted to get the full story. So I worked to keep my mental walls in place and waited, earning me a mournful sigh.

"In any case, he said nothing for a good five minutes, alternating between burning me down with his condemning glare and watching my mother out the window. I could tell he wanted to scream and yell, but as usual, he was repressing it.

"Well, let me tell you," he prefaced, his voice taking on a jovial tone, though its foundation was laced with bitterness. "Rage always escapes, even the strongest of wills is never enough."

He began to pace, but faster than any human could; I had trouble tracking his movement. I could see him, but his form blurred into a haze of pale skin, bronze hair, and darkness ... and then he disappeared.

Worried and confused, I twisted around, scanning the room in all directions, but I couldn't pinpoint him. He was still there, speaking in a volume so low, I couldn't understand. Panic seemed to seize my lungs, my chest constricting and squeezing my heart. I jumped to my feet, stretching out my legs and back and trying to exorcise the nerves.

"Edward?" My voice was shaky, but calmer than I expected.

"Still want to know?" he whispered into my ear, startling me. Standing directly behind me, within inches, my body pulled toward him, any fright and discomfort ebbing. I remembered the magnetic need to be around him from years ago, but this was stronger. It spanned across my skin, seeping into the muscles and bone, gripping the whole of me.

I spun slowly, checking the durability of my internal armor, and struggled to keep my expression neutral and patient. The walls were shaking. "Why would you think I wanted you to stop?"

I watched his lips, curving so slightly; his eyes, turbulent and remorseful, yet knowing and sad; his body, vibrating with ... want, rattling my own control.

_His body, his beautiful face ... _

Any ability to read him further was effectively shut down as his entire being was cleansed of telling traces of emotion. I was left breathless at this gift of stonewalling, attributing it to his recently sated hunger. _Well, one appetite, anyway._

Vermilion scrutiny fixed on me, I scrambled to reinforce my defenses as I swallowed audibly and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Tell me. Edward."

Not backing away, he spoke again in short, clipped phrases like he was biting my heels as tried to he chase me away. "He stood. Walked around the table. Opened the door to the patio. Walked out. I followed after a moment.

"'Say goodbye, Elizabeth,' he ordered my mother. 'We no longer have a son.'"

I would have liked to believe if he could, he would cry, but the pressure of the emotion seemed apparent across his eyes, his jaw grinding. I could feel my face soften, my heartache for him overriding any frustration or grievances I was harboring, however valid.

"Yes, poor Edward," he hissed, narrowing his eyes at me.

I dropped my head forward to stare at the floor, shaking my head. "I don't pity you. I just ... hate that he was so cruel."

When I looked up again, he was at the window, twenty feet away. He continued as if I'd never spoken.

"My mother seemed terrified, scared of what had created such turmoil between us. I called out to him, asked him to please ... no, I asked him _why_. Why was I any different now that he knew the truth? 'I'm gay, Mom,' I said.

"She gasped, but I had a feeling she was not surprised." He turned to toss a tiny, wry smile and a raised eyebrow at me. "I can't remember much after that — it gets a little fuzzy. Just pieces and images. His hands around my throat, my head hitting the deck ... the smell of blood, my mother's screams."

Facing me once again, he walked slowly toward me, but stopped after only a few steps.

"I woke up in an alley downtown ... I have no idea how I got there, but it was dark out."

_Were you ... changed?_ I thought, inexplicably unable to voice the words.

"In some ways, yes," he answered, sarcasm souring his voice. "I was abandoned, injured, alone ..."

Picturing him like that killed me, sending white hot pain searing through me. My heart beat so hard, I could barely hear anything else. _Why didn't he call me?_ My mind flooded with all the things I could have done, how easily he could have been home safe, with me. Thoughts tripping over themselves, I stuttered to remind him. "I-I could have ... I _would_ have—"

"NO!" Fury punched me in the gut, leaching my strength to stand. I fell back to the couch, grasping at the arm. Instead of seeing him walk closer, I heard him growl at me. "I wasn't going to crawl to your door, pathetic and beaten, Jasper. You deserved more than a broken ... _boy_."

"Well," I began, my voice cracking. Bile rose in my throat, his bitter self-label stoking resentment for his apparent lack of faith in me. "I guess I wouldn't have been able to do anything anyway, right? What comfort or help could _I _give you? Clearly, I didn't love you enough. Or, sorry, _you_ didn't love _me_—"

"Don't you fucking dare ...!" Instantly, his hand was on my throat, my back pinned to the sofa. "I saved you from picking up the pieces."

Blood pooled in my cheeks, circulation stemmed by his grip. My throat convulsed, desperate for air. My fingers scratched at his wrists, futility at its finest. My mouth stretched open as my eyes shut tight, feeling like they might pop out. Adrenaline surged through me, but none of that so-called superhuman strength did me any good; his hold didn't budge.

I couldn't believe what was happening, but I almost welcomed it. I was so tired from the emotional—as well as physical—struggle between us, the instinctual "fight-or-flight" response quickly dissipated. Any fear one would expect in a life or death situation fled as though the adrenaline surge was a false alarm, leaving me only with ... relief?

Suddenly, I fell still, my limbs relaxing and dropping to my sides. Lifting my eyelids, I calmed enough to see the conflict in his eyes so clearly. For a brief moment, I found peace.

"Do it," I mouthed. "I'm already dead."

Just like that, the air came rushing back into my lungs. I rolled to my side, my face pressing into the cushion as I gasped and sputtered. Stars and distortions flitted before my eyes, the room around me a pool of detached images and sounds. I felt lost and adrift, any illusion of peace gone. I began to think that perhaps I'd died, maybe crashed my bike, and this was purgatory—no end to this torture in sight.

"Why do you push me?"

His question loosely stitched my surroundings back together, and I blinked to focus, pushing myself back to sitting. I didn't know how to answer at first, but my head began to clear and my heart answered for me.

"If I leave here without understanding why ..." I looked up to find his eyes and willed myself to continue. "I can't ... I can't go without having some idea of why you were ... why you left me," I tried to explain, my voice rough, emotional and raw. "No goodbye, just ... you gave up! On me, on us, on yourself ..."

"Jasper ..."

"Edward!" I shot back, pushing to stand again. "I may never recover from this, okay? Whether you drain the life from my veins, or disappear again, I ... my heart ... I can't heal over again. Either way, I will bleed to death."

I didn't have to look in his eyes to know the horror I would have found there, to feel his anguish and shock. Guilt welled up in my eyes, despite the truth I felt.

"If you can't pretend you lo—" I stopped myself from lashing out again. "If you can't just come clean ... pretend you are who you were and tell me, I ... I just don't know ..."

I trailed off, the words failing. After a bizarrely easy silence, I offered an olive branch.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Emmett, Alice, Rosie ... anything." I almost begged. "Help me understand what happened, and I promise I'll leave you alone forever."

His ears visually perked as the names of my family ticked of the tip of my tongue, so I thought that might be a promising sign. I felt like I was treading water for the first time since Edward opened the front door. His mouth opened and closed as he stepped toward me, carefully, as though approaching a wild animal. His hands open, palms facing me, he reached out—not with his hands, but a shattered plea.

"Please don't leave me alone again."

* * *

**A/N**: Mah betas/writing coaches (hehe) Mal & Nae: THANK YOU. :)


	7. Fog

_"Please don't leave me alone again."  
_  
Had I not felt his illicit terror at the possibility, I would have thought he was just shifting his mood to manipulate and irritate me as part of this sadistic volley of accusations and demands in which we'd entrenched ourselves. As it was, however, he was drenched in a melancholic, resigned hopelessness I couldn't quite understand. He was pitiful, standing there, and a small part of me resented it. Despite that flicker of outrage, shock coursed through my veins, slippery, aching, and stealthily settling into my heart like ice.

His plea wasn't a calculated play; it was truth. And I was floored. Did he think I really _wanted_ to leave? I was already exhausted by this back and forth between "stay" and "go," but this wasn't an impulsive, angry demand, nor was I lashing out as he'd done.

This was Edward at his most vulnerable.

My body felt very heavy, suddenly, somehow mired in guilt regardless of the intellectual surety that I had nothing to be sorry for. Looking into his eyes, my heart wasn't so sure. Exhaustion was locked into my muscles thanks to the stress and volatility of our every interaction, so not only was my body weary, but also my will to argue. The anger was still there, the resentment easily reachable, but ... I just _couldn't_ right then.

Deliberately slow-moving, I traversed the two steps until I was directly in front of him, inches apart. I studied his face for a moment, guardedly wondering what he expected me to do, to say. He looked lost, almost terrified. It was the most shocking moment I'd encountered upon seeing him again. It was safe to say we were both surprised when I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him to me. I was a little bewildered because I felt so discounted, to be under the assumption that I could be callous and cold.

But looking at him, hearing him — the enormous weight of anguish he was radiating ... I had to fix it. In that moment, I had to make it stop, because otherwise, it would crush me.

_Comfort_. That was all I wanted him to feel at that moment. Edward had frozen at first, but soon, the adamantine idol in my arms sagged against me. His arms tightened, his grip constricting with unrestrained desperation. Fingertips digging, pressing against my skin, into my muscles and bones, the pressure of his innate strength astounded me. I was sure I would bruise, but I held him tighter before he could let go and set the world violently spinning again. As much as I thought the embrace might turn awkward, given the distance of years, it wasn't. At all.

Stress and fracture fell dormant within my muscles, my mind. It was everything that'd been missing for me; it was home.

I was struck by the distinct lack of body heat on his part — not that I hadn't noticed it before, but for the fact that this embrace was warming me from the inside out. From the center of my being, cold and hurt were soothed by his body pressing against mine. Relishing it, for however surely brief a time, I closed my eyes.

His face nuzzled into the crook of my neck as my palms trailed up and down his back, my mind going blank. I was unwilling to move through this peaceful contact too quickly — if ever. I was willing to stay stuck here forever, if I could. I didn't _want_ to let it go, but I knew there would be more: more fury, more confessions, more heartbreak. How could there not? I didn't know how I could ever leave this house, this room — these arms — and feel _good_ about it.

So I wandered through the stillness for a while, content with the silence, the warmth and cool. His dark distress had waned, the quiet need minutely sated as I held him. This divine moment was both infinite and fleeting.

Suddenly, I felt his cool lips press against my pulse. My brow wrinkled, unsure how to react—or even if I should. But then he moved, his tender marble embouchure deftly playing its way up my neck and behind my ear, along my jaw. Anticipatory pinpricks danced over the skin there, tripping a full-body shiver. Hands slid gently down my shoulders, palms anchoring flat on my lower back, pulling.

I couldn't deny a bizarre sense of hope peeking above the surface, just enough to breathe. My mind was too muddled in a war with conscience and heart to let me deny or affirm anything Edward was doing to me. All he would glean from me was a mental deadlock and an uneven beat beneath my ribs.

Briefly, my eyes peeked open just enough to see an unrestrained desire cresting the turbulent red seas of his irises, and before I could register how forcefully he held our bodies together, his kiss devoured me. Though not the first time we'd kissed during our reunion — _for lack of a better word — _it was entirely different. When I'd first kissed him, it was out confusion, desperation, a longing and mourning and ... everything I hadn't been able to face or deal with since he'd disappeared from my life. I had wanted to make it all stop, but I'd also wanted to touch him, to feel him beneath my fingertips again — to _make_ him remember how much I'd loved him.

And still did.

The second attempt was a diversion, a battle tactic, of sorts. It was somewhat successful, if you discounted the potentially fatal yet accidental blood draw.

Neither had done anything but incite his demons, pushing him farther away, deeper into the angry, dark place he'd been living in for years. And farther away from me, answers, and maybe some kind of resolution or even closure, though the thought of closure felt equally heartbreaking.

When I'd hugged him, I'd wanted to neutralize the torrential emotions that kept him volleying between wrath and hopeless defeat. It wasn't premeditated — it felt like my heart led me to do so.

This, however, was his doing. Slowly warming me with tender affections along my neck and jaw, his lips had made their way to mine in such a way, I wondered if I was flashing back ten years. Now, as his mouth urged mine to move, my lips to part ... I couldn't think. I couldn't analyze a single thing, my mind in a slow whirl of incoherence, shock, and amazement. I left the present, and all my questions behind, if only temporarily.

A cool tongue slowly slipped along my lower lip, pacing as it waited to be granted entrance. I slid my hands up from his upper back, leaving one at the base of his neck, the other forcefully twisting bronze, anchoring in his hair as my body and soul seemed to override anything rational. And just like that, I felt what I assumed was a similar frenzy for him as he had when he fed off the blood from my tongue. It wasn't feverish, though, despite the fierce urge to attack in a fit of hysterical lust.

_Intoxicating_.

That was how it felt. Like the most devious drug — encompassing bliss laced with a warning, promising a crippling addiction with violent physical withdrawal. A warning that would be, most assuredly, ignored.

The sounds of quick, excited breathing through my nose fell past my ears unnoticed, all my attentions on the feel of Edward. The intensity of the kiss escalated exponentially, my own yearning multiplying with every swipe of his tongue and pull of his lips around mine. Smooth palms traveling about my sides, hips, back, lighting the fires that for years I'd tried to douse ineffectually, only managing to mask, bury, or hide.

My fingers pulled at his hair as I kissed him back again and again, the cycle of tongues and lips and hums repeating, but every round new and even more breathtaking. As my hands gripped and twirled, caressing and attempting to attach myself to him, his seemed only to press me closer, entreating me to feel him. All of him.

I didn't hear the shuffling of his—_our_—feet along the floor, so it wasn't until my back hit the cushions on the couch that I realized we'd moved at all. I tried to reorient myself, but was equally lost when he settled himself between my legs, grinding himself against me. The kiss largely unbroken, I moaned wantonly at the contact, the sound swallowed. His hips moved in small, tightly controlled thrusts, and it was almost completely mind-scrambling. Even more so, however, was the low vibration I determined to be an animalistic growl rumbling within his chest, a sound not entirely human. Slightly mystifying, and impossibly seductive.

If he was trying to read my mind just then, it would have been complete nonsense: a jumble of pleas and dirty gibberish, chased by slow-running confusion and a drunken, waylaid intention.

My body answered his, writhing beneath him, our collective desire beginning to choke me as I tried to keep breathing without tearing my lips from his. As difficult as it was to think straight, a general feeling of amazement and wonder shot through me at the feel of him, the planes and curves of his body, every muscle and sinew — familiar but more refined, polished ... perfect.

His lips broke away, trailing determinedly over my chin and down my neck. When the sweater I wore was torn open, I gasped, my need for air only secondary to the surprise. Panting, I couldn't fill my lungs. Something in me shifted and split. With his mouth occupying a meandering path down my chest, it was the strangest dichotomy: I wanted him, badly. I physically _needed_ him; I was desperate to feel skin against skin — human or not. However, deep in the pit of my stomach, there was panic. Red lights and flags ... warnings and sirens. 

_Stop ... stop ... I can't do th—  
_  
In that unnatural speed I was slowly becoming used to, Edward jumped back_,_ throwing himself into the opposite wall. I struggled to focus, lifting the whole of me out of the fog as every torment, physical and emotional, returned in full force. Whether it was just me, or what Edward was projecting, I wasn't sure. His eyes stormed, raging and dark. The look on his face screamed "rejected," but the rough, jagged tone of his voice was visceral and tangibly painful.

"I'm so sorry," he seethed, whether at me or himself, I couldn't say. Trying to calm himself, he offered half-heartedly, "I shouldn't have, I just couldn't ... resist."

He paused, facing away from me before whispering, barely loud enough for me to hear, "I missed you so much."

I couldn't speak, the pain was so intense. How many times could a heart break and still keep beating? How had _I_ made the wrong move again? Even if I could have uttered a word, I wouldn't have known what to say.

Drowning in my own contrition, the haze had cleared. My mind unlocked, walls crumbling, every thought and reaction unguarded. Everything sped by me, leaving me stuttering, scrambling for a thread to grasp onto. A lightning-fast deluge of my life in pictures blurred through my head; Emmett and Alice blurred and blended into fantasies of Edward, moving so fast, I couldn't separate them. Fact and fiction were indiscernible.

"Ed ... Edward ..." I sounded like a guilty adulterer, and it made my stomach churn and my temper flare. But I wasn't the only one.

I wanted to explain, or at least to clarify what he had surely seen in my thoughts — and would absolutely misunderstand, but I couldn't avoid resenting him for making me feel that way. I was _not_ guilty. Of anything, yet at every opportunity, Edward pounced hungrily, as though he gained by virtue of persecution.

He seemed to choke on the words that erupted, but he managed to spew his vitriol from across the room in a quiet, hateful whisper. "... wouldn't want you to be unfaithful to your ... _Emmett._"

* * *

**A/N: The usual awesome thanks to my amazing beta/coach/prereaders, Mal & Nae. xoxoxo**

Chap 8 is already in progress!


	8. Hail

_"... Wouldn't want you to be unfaithful to your ... _Emmett_."_

In an instant, my focus sharpened, zeroing in on the acrid glare he fixed on me. My temper flared, burning in my throat as though I'd swallowed the sun. Resentment and fatigue worked together to still my shaking bones, smoothing over my stammering reaction so that I could respond. My voice was clear, smooth, and livid.

"That. Is. _It_."

I wouldn't run to him, beg him to listen, chase him down to soothe his tantrum. It wasn't about patience and understanding anymore. If I couldn't keep him out of my head long enough to stop him from driving us off a cliff, so to speak, why the hell should I play fair? Swinging my legs over the side of the couch, I sat up and rid myself of the scraps of cashmere around my shoulders, throwing it at the fire. I cleared my mind as I watched the flames lick at the soft wool, steadily consuming it, a bright heat pushing out into the room and flickering shadows around the furniture. His unfounded accusations were hurtful, and I felt like I had to start from the beginning.

"I am so fucking tired, Edward," I told him, sighing heavily. "You? Essentially stomping your feet like a petulant child? Fuck that, man. You have no goddamn right begrudging me for trying to move on after you ... you just _disappeared_. I assumed you were dead after a while — what else could I do? Do you have _any_ idea of how hard that was? How fucking _destroyed_ I was?"

My eyes remained trained on the embers of the sweater as I listened for a reaction, but I heard nothing. No new sense of regret or remorse flavored the air around me, my stomach dropping in reflexive disappointment, though I didn't let it show. The thought that he wouldn't care or didn't believe what losing him had done to me, it made me wonder what I was still doing here. But I could be as stubborn as he was.

"No, you don't, do you?" I mumbled, exasperated and annoyed. _You can only consider your own suffering, you selfish bastard.  
_  
I heard a hiss, and felt satisfied that my unspoken slap had hit its target. I refused to look, to see the anger and probable hurt in his eyes, because at that moment, I figured he deserved it. If I gave myself the time to really think about it, I was sure I might regret the thought, but as it was, Edward wasn't holding back for fear of hurting me. At least, not emotionally. Yet, in spite of how deeply that cut, I couldn't walk away. Not yet.

Intent to say my piece, I heaved in a deep breath before leaning forward on my forearms and lacing my fingers together. I remained silent for a moment, building up the tolerance to lay out the summary of my life before him. I wouldn't just hand it to him, however; he had to work for it. He wanted to use Emmett to needle me into some sort of guilt, but why? Focusing intently on the dying glow of the remains of cashmere, the dim flames engulfing the pile of pine, I staunchly refused to allow anything in my mind but what I saw. I watched and waited.

"Like I said, I will tell you whatever you ask," I began steadily, "but you have to _ask_."

He bristled, his raised hackles rippling the air. "Why are _you_ so angry at _me_?"

He asked with such honesty, such genuine puzzlement, I was stunned. I turned slowly to see that he'd crossed the room, halfway between me and the wall. His face oddly unrepentant, but truly sad, as though my frustration hurt him physically.

"Goddammit," I groaned. Flabbergasted, I dropped my head into my hands and ran my hands through my hair. "You assume the worst of me at every turn, Edward! How the hell else am I supposed to feel?"

The ire and insult swarmed within my gut, storming and building into a cyclone, and I felt forced to stand. Unwilling to stand nose-to-nose again, to stare him down, I started pacing slowly in random, wide circles. I felt caged, a little wild.

"Ask me," I barked, and waited, but still moving, as though I thought I might explode should I stop.

He didn't respond right away, and my steps quickened, taking me closer to the fireplace. Passing the mouth, flames seemed to reach for me. Heat swept up my body from my bare feet, seeping through the jeans, and climbing up my naked torso. Closing my eyes in a languid blink, I slowed my pace and stopped in front of the window. The contrast of heat to the cold emanating through the glass panes grabbed me as my eyes opened again. My gaze immediately caught by the weald of trees circling the house. They swayed and pitched, twisting their limbs with the wind enough that they should have tangled. I felt mirrored, stretched in my own personal storm. The unnaturally massive pressure against my bones should have snapped them, torn my heart from the my chest and uprooted my very sanity.

The idea that my anger surprised him intrigued me, planting a small seed of hope in me. Honestly, it wasn't something I wanted. Hope seemed to torture me. But the basest, desperate part of my heart made me beg.

_If you ever really loved me, you'd ask._

"I ... I want to ... please, Jasper," he began tentatively, his disjointed words spinning the wheels in my mind.

He was afraid. Afraid of my answers. Well, that just further stoked my ire. How _little_ did he think of me?

Turning my head slightly, I followed his arms with my eyes as he gestured awkwardly toward the sofa, and then the chair. Lifting my eyes back to his, I shook my head minutely, returning my gaze to the trees. I couldn't recall a storm that had lasted this long in a while. The rain had slowed, but the air and clouds held fast their wicked intent.

"Emmett," he said simply, as though that were enough of a question. His tone, however, was accusatory and expectant. It was my turn to bristle.

_Ask_. My teeth ground together in frustration. I refused to make this easy.

His voice was child-like, quiet and small — he didn't _really_ want to know. "Do you love him?"

I sucked in a deep breath, fast and heavy, before I could tame my surprise at the question. I could feel him taking that as affirmation, like his heart was breaking, projecting shards of pain in every direction. Reflexively, I winced. "Yes, I do—"

"That's all I need to know," he interrupted, biting hard on every syllable as if each individual sound could cause me pain. They did. The room seemed to suffocate suddenly, his adverse emotional reaction thundering through me quite spitefully.

"He's my best friend!" I shouted angrily, ready to tear my hair out. Why was Edward fighting me so hard? How could I possibly continue this _war_ I'd fallen into? My armor was just about worn to the quick. "Do you even care? For fuck's sake, Edward, I feel like you're purposefully avoiding details for fear of realizing you are wrong about _everything_."

"Are the details so important?" he snarled, gnashing his teeth. "Are they going to make me feel any better about you and your—"

_STOP!_ My jaws hurt, and I briefly thought I might crack the mandible. "Emmett is straight," I said, speaking loud and over-enunciating. "He's my best friend, and that's it. I've never had sex with him, but I have kissed him, and not because he wanted me to."

I glared at him, watching with pleasure as his expression morphed from self-righteous and indignant to sheepish. That kiss flashed through my mind. It'd happened in college, not long after Emmett and I had become fast friends.

_"So ... uh, dude," Emmett began, somewhat shyly. Well, for him, it was practically "wallflower."_

_I stared at him, fully unnerved by the sudden shift in confidence. He was acting incredibly awkward, so much so that I wondered if he had something cold and wet in his shorts. It was all very out of character ... and making me nervous._

_"Why haven't you made a ... _play_ for _me_?"_

_My mouth hung slack for a moment, my eyes bulging wide in surprise. After a brief pause, I tipped the bottle of Heineken back, the cool drink sliding effortlessly down my throat. I swallowed, grinned, and set the now-empty beer on the table. Grabbing his face firmly, I planted my lips on his._

_I wasn't drunk—well, maybe a little buzzed, but really I was just fucking with him. He stiffened—completely, but not where I'd want him to—and I'd backed away, laughing._

_"DUDE," I snorted, echoing him and snapping him out of his shock with a slap in the face. "You're not my type."_

_Grabbing two more bottles from the cooler next to the TV, I handed him one and sat back as I twisted off the cap. He slapped his huge paw around it, but withdrew his arm very slowly. I watched him for a moment, making sure he wasn't uncomfortable. His face was priceless, actually, as if he couldn't decide between being offended or relieved._

_"You like girly guys?" He asked earnestly after a long draw on the beer._

_Choking on my first sip of beer two, I cleared my throat. While I was grateful for his candor and easy acceptance, I didn't really understand where the line of questioning came from._

_"Um, no, not really. I just tend to skip straight guys," I teased, as he frowned a little. "You're not actually insulted, are you?"_

_He considered for a moment before continuing. "But you _do_ think I'm hot, right? I mean, have you at _least_ checked out my ass?"_

Blinking out of the memory, I chuckled, raising my eyes to see Edward's blank face a few feet away, his shoulder leaning against the mantle of the fireplace. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I assumed—"

"The worst," I finished, cutting him off, the amusement gleaned from the flashback dissolved. "That's what I really don't understand, man. How do you so easily twist me into the bad guy? What did I ever do?"

"Will you tell me how you met him?"

Huffing, I pinched my eyes shut, willing myself to remember my promise to answer any question he had. "I—"

"I assume college, but ... how did you ..."

I looked back, watching him flounder for words. It was strange to see Edward so lost, when so often he was the one who made me lose myself, in both the good and bad sense. My stomach twisted, mixing a disoriented melancholy with my annoyance and anger. I honestly didn't know what to do with him, or _for_ him.

I did, however, have a feeling what he was getting at.

"Emmett is one of the most non-judgmental people I've ever met," I told him, halting his verbal fumbles. "He actually stepped in as I was getting my ass handed to me."

Electricity pricked the air, plucking at each little hair on my arms. Edward was pissed. _For_ me. I tried to fight a smirk, but lost.

"I'd stood up for this kid getting harassed by a drunk fratboy. Slurs got thrown, and at some point, punches followed. His friends jumped in, and it was just ... too much. Emmett had pulled the pile of us apart, headbutting the main offender. He made sure I was okay, but then I noticed his forehead bleeding. He almost passed out, so I figured he had a concussion and drove him to the hospital. We've been friends ever since."

I shrugged, ending the story there. If he wanted more, he'd have to ask.

"But ... did he know? About ... _you_?" Still nervous, but calmer, the affront dissolved. Poring over his face, I saw so much then. Edward was never _ashamed_ of his sexuality, per se, he just wanted the one thing he could never have: his father's acceptance. It had made it nearly impossible for Edward to accept _himself_, and realize that people other than me would, too. I could see this wound reverberating through him even now, and my heart ached all the more. I wasn't sure how much more it would take to kill me.

"Of course," I replied, softer. "He overheard a lot of the fight — hard to miss, so he asked me about it while in the waiting room at the hospital. _'You really gay?'_ I said, 'Yeah.' He just nodded and mumbled, _'Those guys are fuckin' assholes.'_"

I sighed, my body sagging a little, the fight ebbing away from me. I felt a little bad as more thoughts of Emmett tumbling forward without my permission. Here I was, singing Emmett's praises when I was trying to assuage unfair, displaced jealousy.

"Emmett was never homophobic, which surprised a lot of people — he's a big, brawny guy, so people tend to stereotype him as all brawn, no brain, big prejudice, fragile ego. None of that is true. Best friend I ever had ..." My mind churned with memories of Edward. The most vibrant of which being the tender way he'd grab my hand before I'd even see him, and how I'd never have to look to know it was him. He always saw me first, but right now, when I really needed him to _see_, I felt like he couldn't see me at all.

Brutally missing that unparalleled connection we'd had, my throat tightened, raw with emotion. An amendment clawed its way up and over my tongue, spilling at my feet. "Except for you."

I looked up, and Edward's face was long, forlorn, and less than a foot away. The late morning grey highlighted the side of his face, making my hands jealous, desperate to feel.

His forehead pinched together, as if he sensed that desire and it stung him. "Then why did you lie to me?"

* * *

**A/N**: As ever, supermassive gropingfests to Nae & Mal ... xoxoxo


	9. Floor

**Yeah, I know, long time no read. My bad — life sure is an asskicker these days. I've already started the next chap, but I can't guarantee how fast it'll be ready. Without further ado ...**

_

* * *

"Then why did you lie to me?"_

My heart jumped, falling to my feet as my lips parted in anticipation of words that wouldn't come. The question — the assumption was more than I could comprehend. As I looked into his eyes, I could see he truly believed that I'd lied, but the lazily torn look on his face didn't even hint at what that misconception might have been.

"Lie? I never lied to you, Edward," I whispered, more confused than hurt. I kept my eyes moving constantly over his expression, trying to discern how deeply he was hurt by this supposed falsehood, but I couldn't find anything but genuine confusion.

"You told me you were gay, that you weren't interested in women at all." The statement was so plain, I almost believed he was right: that I _had_ lied.

But then, I laughed.

I felt a little better that perhaps it wasn't something horrifying, but rather something he didn't understand. The creases on my forehead relaxed and smoothed, the anxiety retreating somewhat. Of course, that was premature.

Edward's entire countenance darkened as if to play the dark to my light, his brow wrinkling with anger. The pane of glass next to us seemed to explode, though I knew it to be Edward's doing, punctuated perfectly with a flash of lightning sparking at the base of a large oak not far from the house. I had a fleeting thought, wondering if Edward's inhuman physiology attracted the lightning, but my heart told me I couldn't blame it; his attraction was an easy thing to understand.

He scowled in reaction as I jumped back from the splintered glass, avoiding stepping on it and slicing open my sole as best I could, _well_ aware of the ramifications of open wounds. Gusts of icy wind rushed in like a freight train, loud and unstoppable. I winced, blinking reflexively at the harsh force against my eyes, the pellets of cold rain hammering my chest. I tried to block the influx from my face, but tripped backwards over a table before I could focus.

Once again, I did not hit the ground.

Instead, my surroundings whooshed by me in a blur, false comfort taking over. Once the edges and features began to sharpen, I found myself in a large, master bedroom. Edward held me protectively as he set me on my feet again, but did not let go. On the surface, my skin had gone so cold from the wind and rain, I was almost convinced this was real, that Edward was mine again and his skin still thrummed hot with blood.

"Never again," he murmured with such grief that my body felt suspended as if in the transitioning point before a fall, when your stomach knows the peril before you do.

What danger was I in for? How hard would I hit the ground this time? He radiated a blend of panic and regret that washed over me, sticking to my skin. I felt heavier, and my lungs had to work harder to breathe.

I turned in his arms, a little disoriented and unable to find a footing. I was wobbly and seasick, but grasping at reeds to keep from slipping under. My mind swam restlessly through the past, looking for an anchor or a shore. _Edward's smile, his beatific, toe-to-top smile ... how he held me that night ... that _first _time ..._. The ache in my chest had been erratically ebbing and flowing like a schizophrenic tide since I arrived. Cued by my desperate wishes, it spread throughout my limbs. Unable to stop my hands from wandering, I brushed his wrists, trailing up his forearms, feeling the chill, yet imagining him warm. My fingertips grazed across the soft fabric of his rolled-up sleeves, over his biceps and slowing to a stop on his chest. My palms settled evenly on his chest as I fantasized about his heartbeat, how it used to feel under my hands. _God, Edward, how I've missed you ..._

My breathing began to calm, as though the boat had stopped rocking, the seas had calmed, the sun had come out. I leaned my head forward to rest against his, closing my eyes. My palms seemed to delve below his hardened skin, sensing the real man — not the monster he claimed to be — and his heart, his _true_ heart beating. A burst of fire flared in through my own.

_I can feel it. I can. I know it's not real, but it's there._

"Jasper, stop—" Edward nearly choked on the words, his voice so strained.

_Your physical heart is still, but your _true_ heart is beating, baby. Fiercely._

"I said, STOP!"

He released me abruptly, propelling me backward a few steps. I stumbled clumsily into the doorjamb of the en suite bathroom. The wind was knocked out of me briefly at the surprise, but I managed to recover my breath quickly. A sharp pain shot through my chest, but I didn't think it was from the impact. I couldn't tell for sure, but I was certain another piece of me had given way, crumbling in defeat. Gasping, I looked to him.

Edward hadn't moved from his spot, but searching his face, I wondered where he went. Thinking about us? My so-called lie? He wasn't angry, exactly, but I could feel his wheels turning.

"You never answered my question," he whispered, his eyes cast to my bare feet.

I snorted, amused yet embittered by his selfishness. "I thought my reaction was clear enough. As it was, you didn't _ask_ me anything; you just _told_ me what you believed to be false."

His eyes snapped to mine, suddenly narrow and annoyed. This time I chuckled humorlessly.

"What does it matter, Edward? You don't believe in me, anyway," I snapped, my throat hoarse and sore, constricting with the pain of his boomerang of rejections.

The constant resistance I had to fight against had finally eroded the last of my energy. I didn't even have the strength to cry, and I was thankful for that. I felt like I'd expended enough tears for a good while. The weight of it all, everything he felt compelled to lay on me sagged my shoulders first rattling through my bones until my knees were sure to snap. Sliding my back down until my ass hit the floor with a soft thud, I looked directly into his eyes.

"You keep trying to find fault in me, a spot to saddle me with blame for everything that happened to you, and I don't know why," I mused, heartbroken, speaking softly as if to myself. The words cracked, tripping drunkenly along my vocal cords, withering and brittle. It was amazing how hostile they managed to sound as they echoed in my ears. "I mean, I have an idea, but you won't answer a single goddamn question of mine, so ... what do I owe you?"

Silence stretched between us for minutes, the heart outside my body staring daggers at me, though he was still as death. I ached everywhere, my every emotion taking a physical presence in my muscles and bones.

"You said you'd tell me anything I asked."

My eyes rolled in their sockets, a knee-jerk reaction. _Is he even listening to me?_ I was so tired, _so_ tired of arguing. I began to wonder why I was still here. Was I trapped here within this house, or maybe just within myself? I couldn't make myself leave. It felt like purgatory: what you want most right in front of you, forever beyond your grasp. I'd never known such a torture; this was worse than when he'd disappeared.

Edward seemed to bristle, a twitch of pain ghosting his face, but at this point, I felt close to hallucinating, so I couldn't trust my eyes.

"Yeah, I did," I rasped. "I also said you had to tell _me_ something, didn't I? I don't think I'm asking for the world here, but ... fuck, man ..."

My hands instinctively sought my face, my fingertips pressing hard into my eye sockets. I kept waiting for him to say something. Or disappear. Anything, but he remained immobile, silent. Revealing nothing.

"Fine," I breathed harshly, at my wit's end. "I need to sleep some more. I'd really appreciate it if I could take a shower and crash for a little while. Cool?"

He didn't answer until I had pushed myself back up to standing. "Of course." Formal. Stiff. A stranger.

Even though I thought it impossible to hurt any more, my heart dropped to my stomach. My chest tightened as the air seemed to chill. He was walling off again, and I'd barely cracked him enough to get somewhere. I wanted desperately to collapse, but if I could just drag myself through a quick, hot shower, I was convinced I would sleep easy.

Turning my back to him, I shuffled across the decadent tiles, idly wondering who decorated the place. It wasn't really Edward's style ... at least, not the Edward I remembered.

"I ... found it this way," he offered weakly. "A year ago. I've ... been here a year now."

I heard him, but I hadn't the slightest idea of what to think about that. A multitude of ideas flitted in front of me ... _Did he know I lived in this area? Had he come back to find me?_ ... but I crushed it quickly, unwilling to foster some delusion. I rotated slowly, stepping back toward the bathroom door. His mouth hung open like he would speak, respond to the sudden internal questions, but the look in my eyes stopped him. Staring in his, I could see his discouragement, his dejection, but I sensed a lot of guilt, too, which surprised me a little. With such little give to balance the take, though, I felt empty. So, not flinching, not even blinking, I closed the door.

Systematically, I tried to shut my brain off. All I would allow was the literal, the physical sensations and the actions that brought them about. _The floor is cold beneath my feet. Breathe in, breathe out. Walk toward the shower. Unbutton jeans. Heavy, soft denim under my fingers, and then under my feet as I step out of them. Turn on the water. Hot. Step inside, close the glass door. Inhale again. No, deep breath. Can't. Not enough air. Need more oxygen. Cough, sputter, choke ..._

Sobs clawed their way up my already tender throat, that awful discomfort from resisting pulling sharply across my lungs and neck, throbbing violently through my temples. I could feel the whine as it escaped, but I couldn't hear it over the pounding of water against my skull. The emptiness had filled with pain, pain I'd swallowed and suppressed. I gripped the shelves on either side of the showerhead, willing myself not to fall. I emptied my lungs and allowed the sounds to escape. Knowing he could hear, no matter how quiet I tried to be, was bothersome, but in truth, it hurt more trying to hide it.

Having let the cap off a little emotional steam helped calm my mind ever so slightly. There were some gels and soaps, so I washed quickly and rinsed. After I dripped all over the floor looking for the towels, I dried off and wrapped the one around my waist before steeling myself to reenter the bedroom. When I opened the door, I found an unsurprisingly sullen Edward sitting on the end of bed next to a clean pair of boxer-briefs and a t-shirt. I couldn't move right away, and he didn't react visibly, his gaze settled somewhere on the floor straight ahead of him.

Traversing the space, I stopped in front of the clothes, picking up the shorts. I didn't think about it too much as I perfunctorily slipped them on, pulling them up under the towel before dropping it. Something in me didn't want to put the shirt on in hopes that the less I wore, the more it might twist the knife, so to speak. In the end, I realized how exhausted I was by playing such a cruel game and finished dressing. _How much more can we hurt each other?_

Crawling up the mattress, I buried myself under the plush duvet and curled on my side, clamping my eyes shut as I burrowed into the stack of pillows. My body was fully aware Edward hadn't moved, and I suspected he wouldn't. I waited for oblivion amidst the uncomfortable silence, thinking it would take me quickly, but sleep wouldn't come, hovering above me like timid clouds. My mind wandered into dangerous territory, conjuring up images of Alice, Rosie ... then Angela, my girlfriend for all of a month during spring of ninth grade.

_"Do you want to ... _do_ it?" she asked me, her hand sliding up my thigh slowly. We sat on the couch in my parents' finished basement watching _Saved by the Bell. _I hated that damn show, but she loved it. "I stole a condom from my cousin's wallet."_

_My stomach flip-flopped, nausea-induced panic flushing hot and cold across my skin. I _knew_ I liked guys, but I wasn't terribly confident about my preference yet, not having acted on it in any way. I looked at her and smiled, masking the indecision. I nodded quickly, thinking my voice might crack again, and then I'd wimp out._

_Angela blushed almost purple and hastily began digging in her pocket for the foil packet. Handing it to me, she pounced immediately. Her lips smashed over mine, sloppily and hungrily. I was completely overwhelmed and initially froze. We'd made out a couple times before, but never with any intention of getting past second base. Kicking myself out of neutral, I grabbed her face and broke the connection. Smiling, I kissed her softly. And again. Again. Gradually, I worked into a long, open-mouthed kiss, feeling arousal stir._

_I pushed her on her back, holding myself above her as we continued, one hand moving to her sides, and my lips to her neck. Arching her back in response, she called my name, breathily but quiet. My thoughts veered, hearing someone else's voice. Heat flooded me, sending spiraling lust to every corner of my being and invigorating my actions. My hands roaming wildly, my kisses more feverish._

_I could hear panting and whimpers of pleasure, but they weren't hers. A moan bubbled up my chest and spilled out._

_"Edward..."_

"It took you six months before you told me about that," he said, almost teasingly, still facing the other way.

I remembered, my eyes opening to my current reality while my mind sifted through the past. After Angela had left, her face crimson with shame despite my torrent of apologies and attempts at untruthful explanations, she told people we broke up because I pressured her to have sex. I got a lot of dirty looks from most girls ... except Lauren, who I avoided like the plague, because she may well have had it. I'd spent the next few weeks hiding in my room, only leaving for school. I wasn't sulking, just ... thinking.

"Took me more than two months before I could tell you I was gay," I countered. "Another month before you believed me."

"You were dating girls," he argued, twisting his neck to throw the statement at me. It wasn't malicious, though, so the curiosity in his shift compelled me to sit up, leaning back on my hands.

"Two. I dated two girls — lifetime _total_," I felt necessary to add. "And no one has ever been confused about their sexuality before, is that it?"

Turning his body more fully, he caught my eyes. There was something soft about his voice when he spoke, almost wistful. "No. No, that's not it."

Reading his face, his expression, his eyes, I was surprised. Regret, dischord, all the dark things I'd become accustomed to in the last ... however long I'd been here at this point — they were all there. But there was a light I hadn't seen yet, not presently, that I recognized. It was warm and pure. It was _hopeful_. It made _me_ hopeful. And that scared me.

"Why did you think I was bisexual, Edward?" The question tumbled out without prior thought.

Shame crossed his face. "I didn't. Well, not really," he sighed, dropping his gaze. "I wasn't sure ... about Alice."

It dawned on me that gleaning from my disjointed dreams and memories, he obviously drew some interesting conclusions, and while my relationship with Alice was not conventional, it wasn't all that controversial, either.

"Alice asked me out in college," I admitted, settling myself back into the bank of pillows, still sitting upright. "Well, she just jumped up and kissed me, but when I told her I was gay, I wished I wasn't. She's ... she's just an amazing woman, and even though we couldn't be more than friends, I love her very much. She's probably the closest friend I have."

I waited for Edward to wince, or hiss, somehow taking offense, but he didn't. No ripples marred the smooth, perfect surface indicative of forthcoming waves of anger. I smiled, marveling at his new calm.

"Rosie's your daughter, isn't she?"

* * *

**A/N: Thanks, as always, to Nae and Mal. XOXOXO**


	10. Rest

_"Rosie's your daughter, isn't she?"_

My smile vanished with the last lick of a syllable off his tongue, my curiosity piqued as I contemplated his angle. His face was still impassive, his inflections benign, nary a wrinkled brow nor a sharp-edged word to indicate good or bad. The room felt still — too still — and I wished my heart wouldn't speed up so frantically at every new corner. Fear pitted in my stomach as if I should be afraid of his reaction. I wouldn't hold back, though. I wasn't ashamed nor regretful.

"Yes."

I couldn't bring myself to elaborate immediately — I didn't want it to seem as though I was making excuses. If he'd paid any attention during his telepathic raids of my memories, the details might just slap him in the face.

"But ... you and Alice aren't ... _together._" A trickle of relief slipped through his words, coloring the air with a strange mix of warmth and guardedness. Part of me wanted to laugh, but I was too tired.

"No." Inhaling deeply, I expanded on the response. "Biologically, I'm Rosie's father, but I'm not her dad; Emmett is."

It was probably obvious that I took great pleasure in his shock, his eyes wide, his lips separated and gaping as he tried to connect the dots. I pushed further back in the pillows, wiggling to and fro as my body began to relax enough to finally sleep. Finally, as he'd begun to fidget and seemed a hair's breadth from whining, I took pity and just explained.

"I introduced them in college," I said, a smile growing crookedly, my eyes drooping. "They married just after we graduated, and we've all remained very close. Emmett knew he couldn't give Alice a baby because of treatments for a childhood cancer when he was twelve. So, they asked me to ... donate. At least, that's the simple version."

He seemed to withdraw further inside, stewing and spinning on what I'd said, and possibly what I'd been reminiscing through. I didn't consider it earth-shattering news, and light years from a bad thing, but ... Edward tended to react emotionally, not bothering to process anything logically first before lashing out. The response, or lack thereof, made me wary, but I just waited and watched him.

"That ... that was ..." he mumbled, nodding. I could tell he was trying to answer as diplomatically as he was capable. If I'd been more alert, I'd wager he was suppressing a sense of jealousy. "I mean, that was an ... an incredible thing ... for you to do that for them."

"I felt like the opposite," I responded automatically, proud and admittedly, a bit obstinate. "I was amazed and honored they felt they could ask me."

"I guess I can understand that," he whispered and my eyes opened wider at the statement. As I watched his face, his expression shifted and morphed with indecision.

"Ask me, Edward," I ordered with a sigh, as my eyelids dropped again. I could barely see him as I heard a huff, the blankets pulling as he moved. Blinking my heavy lids open, I found him sitting next to me, arms wrapped around his one raised knee, the other foot tucked beneath him. A wave of bittersweet nostalgia shot through me, my heart skipping a beat. The last time I saw him ... _alive_, he sat on my bed next to me. Just like that.

My mind reeled as my heart pounded, the memory suddenly fresh and raw with his promises.

_"I'm going to tell him tomorrow," he said hoarsely, staring out the window, though I knew he wasn't soaking in the setting sun. "Mom, too, of course."_

_I nodded, biting my tongue. I didn't believe him. Not yet. This was the third time he'd claimed he was ready. "Good," I replied, finally, hoping the doubt didn't show._

_"I'm serious, Jasper," he snapped, scowling. "I don't want to do this to you anymore. I don't want you to hide who you are for me."_

_Sitting up quickly, I put my hand on his knee, and he covered my hand, his fingers curling around my palm. "And I don't want you to do this before you're ready."_

_"I want to start my life, Jasper!" His voice was strained, his body solid with tension as he looked at me, eyes narrow. Rubbing his hands over his face, he looked at me again, an expression of apprehension. "With you. I want to start my _real_ life with you; I love you."_

_I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes, and I knew he caught it. My heart squeezed itself with guilt. He loved me, I knew this, and he was so eager. Too eager? I couldn't help but fret over the compiling disappointments lately. Every time I'd thought, _This is it! He'll come out to his parents, and we'll be free_. And every time, I'd be wrong. Still, that didn't stop me from rebuilding hope after every false start._

_So what was I supposed to think now? Was he overcompensating? Would it last? Or would I drown by my own unwillingness to let go?_

_"I love you, too, Edward. More than you'll ever understand." I meant it.  
_  
To counteract the painful twisting in my gut — the regret, the grief, ... the sting of love, I curled onto my side, slipping down so I was horizontal. I had to focus to slow my breathing, but it made my lungs ache and my skin hot. Biting the inside of my lip, I gnashed my teeth as if to keep the pain reemerging from the darkest corners of my mind and soul. Edward sighed heavily. I knew he could not only see it, but also feel it. That, and it probably wove together with his own memories of that night. My fingers gripped at my pillow as I closed my eyes and waited for his question.

"Please, Edward," I whispered, begging, "just ask what you were going to ask."

He remained so still, but I could almost hear his mind whirring as it spun, trying to find its center after being knocked out of orbit by what he saw or felt ... Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself to get the words out. "Would you ... have wanted a family with _me_?"

This time, I stayed where I was, even though an electric shock raced through my system, forcing my eyes open wide. I was surprised that he could still manage a question that could catch me off-guard, though I should have been ready for anything at this point. I was incredibly vulnerable and unshielded, a seemingly insignificant wound torn open. Various pieces of our friendship, our relationship — both good and bad — zipped through my mind, too fast for me to label or catalog, leaving me with an uneasy feeling. I didn't think he was going to like my answer.

Groaning quietly, I pulled the covers toward my chin as if they'd protect me. "It's not the same thing, Edward," I mumbled, annoyed that he veered in this direction. I didn't want to think about what I _had_ wanted. I had learned quickly in my short time in this house: wishing for what could have been was not only fruitless but masochistic. "I was part of creating a family, but I'm not a parent."

"But ... would you have?"

His insecurity was far from endearing. Was he fishing for something? Some kind of reassurance that I wanted him and only him, forever? It was maddening, and my skin began to heat with resentment.

"Ten years ago, I didn't know what I wanted," I said flatly, avoiding an answer that should have no bearing on us now. "And neither did _you_."

Dead silence pricked my ears, and I realized I'd stung him. A thick layer of guilt rolled off him, settling its weight on me. The vague condemnation may have been a little harsh, but I was exhausted and getting my fill of bitter. Not to mention, I was tired of defending my feelings for him. Still, it made it harder to breathe. As impossible and taxing as this whole situation was, it wasn't fair, and I didn't want to stoop to cheap shots. That wasn't me.

"I'm —"

"No," he cut me off, his own hurt familiar and evident in his voice. Somehow, his body seemed to droop under a weight. Whether from defeat or relief, I couldn't say. "Don't apologize; it was a loaded question."

I inhaled slowly, mostly a yawn, preparing to say _something_, but I had no response. Clamping my eyes shut, I internally berated myself. I'd let my mouth run off without my mind, my thoughts veer into dangerously sensitive memories, and I didn't know what to do about any of it. I felt so weak.

Suddenly, cool fingertips brushed across my forehead, pushing the damp curls back. I shivered.

"I'm sorry," he said, his tone clipped, like a kid rebuffed for making his feelings known to his crush. I couldn't help it — I almost smiled.

"No," I said, my volume raised and sharp. My skin and bones had insistently reached out for him as soon as he'd immediately drawn his hand away, aching for him. The feeling served to cloud the waters further, already opaque with debris. I might never find my way out ... not on my own.

It hadn't been a chill that had made me shiver, but rather the tickle of something comforting. "I just—. It felt ... nice."

The word was lacking, but he gasped. I opened my eyes in time to see the disbelief flash across his features. Slowly, his face softened into a subtle smile. I'd surprised him. I smiled, too, and the remaining tension in the room dissipated slowly, but I watched it fade like a colors emerging from a fog. It felt nothing short of a miracle. His lips curled higher until he positively shined, his teeth biting at his lip as if to stop the reaction. It was so beautiful, it hurt.

Tentatively, he reached his hand out again, stretching his fingers toward my face. My heartbeat picked up, speeding toward his touch. Without thinking, I wrapped a hand around his proffered wrist and pulled his palm to my cheek, my fingers sliding between his as I melted against him. Everything I loved about him, everything he made me feel ... it all seemed to pool there as if under his command, bleeding into my skin a joy that was foreign.

The bed shifted, Edward adjusting his position, but never retracting his hand. He sighed, and I believed it was relief this time. The air around us settled, blanketing us in calm, though his proximity was enough to be aware of all of him.

I fought myself, unsure whether the comfort I felt by his hand was right, if I shouldn't feel so good by the gesture. It didn't take much to shut the door on those doubts and relish it. I wanted to so badly, and even though I couldn't decide on his motivations, for the moment I would take it at face value.

Letting go of my fears, I waited to see what he would do, if anything. Skimming my cheek lightly, his thumb brushed my lips reverently. Involuntarily, I pushed them forward in a slight pout, but only to kiss his skin as it passed over. He hummed, a content sound, and my heart clenched. He continued, his fingers trailing up to smooth over my hair. So familiar, so softly. Sighing, and with intense relief, I relaxed completely as my eyes slid shut.

"Sleep, Jasper," he told me, his voice warm and sure. "Rest."

* * *

**A/N**: Shorter this time, but it was a good place to stop.

**Thanks**, as always, to Professor Nae for her encouragement and inspiration, and homework assignments. ;) You help me put the story together properly. And to Mistress Mal, thank you for being the ultimate support. And for reading this slash when you want to force me to write some more Priestsper, or anything A/J. HEART U BOTH. xoxo

Big love to all of you still following along. I honestly can't believe I got to 10 chapters, and I'm still not sure how many more. I have had a breakthrough in regards to the path to an ending, though, so hold on to your panties. ~x~


	11. Shift

_"Sleep, Jasper," he told me, his voice warm. "Rest."_

Shadows of dreams slipped away as my eyes opened, and I struggled to focus. Pale light wandered through the parted drapes, indicating it was sometime in the morning. Sloughing away a bit of sleep-induced confusion, I realized I'd slept clear through the night.

Not that it mattered. Time had ceased to have much meaning for me the moment the door to this house had opened, so the thought came with little comfort. Had sleep done me any good? What could it change?

My limbs felt leaden and my body cocooned as if walled in. I blinked a few times trying to get my bearings. I hadn't moved a muscle during sleep, it seemed, as I was in the exact same position. When I saw the vacant space on the bed next to me, my heart beat a hollow echo. I hadn't expected him to stay with me the entire time I slept, but apparently part of me remained unabashedly hopeful. Admittedly disappointed and feeling all the more foolish for it, I just assumed Edward was gone — to do what, I didn't dare speculate. However, before I could register the body pressed to my back, he spoke softly.

"I'm here," he said, the low rumbling of his voice vibrating against my skin. "I … I couldn't leave you."

How had I not felt him immediately? Had I slept so deeply? How long had he lain there?

"When you started dreaming," he began to answer my thoughts, "I did my best not to … intrude."

"Liar," I croaked pretty unintelligibly, my vocal cords too slow to wake. I wanted to look at him, see the feelings of uncertainty and apprehension on his face that I sensed, but I couldn't. Just listening to him made me focus on his voice, the things he said. Plus, I quite liked being held by him, despite the barrier of the duvet.

_Liar,_ I repeated silently.

He chuckled. "At first, I didn't see it coming, then I was slammed with images. It was mostly nonsense, but then _I_ showed up in the dream."

He paused, suddenly tense. I worried immediately what it was I dreamed, not that I could do anything about it, or that I should have to defend it, but that it might hurt him. After everything, my instinct to love and protect him remained, which only served to confuse and frustrate me more.

"I tried to shut it off, to block it, but I was far too curious," he admitted. "When I saw myself, I realized I was _me_ — I mean, _human_ me. It was … surreal. You smiled at him, but he wouldn't smile back. Then you begged him to stay, but he shook his head, refusing to answer. Then he—"

_You,_ I snapped internally, irritated. I couldn't listen to him continually referring to his "human" self as a character in my dream as if he never existed, as if there was no way to relate to him anymore. As if he was no longer a person at all.

He stilled, and I could practically hear his internal struggle. He wanted to debate me, to list the reasons he was nothing more than a monster, but in the end, I assumed he realized he wasn't going to win that argument with me. Since I'd arrived, he'd fought to convince me, but everything he did contradicted his words. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide his soul from me.

He heaved in a breath, exhaling his resignation and tightening his grip. He no longer comforted me, but practically clung to my shoulders much like a child.

_You call yourself a monster, but keep proving yourself wrong,_ I thought for him, my lips moving in sync, but silent.

Gulping, he continued finally, radiating shame, "And then, _I_ ran away. I ran away from you."

I couldn't help but to think of it as true. It was only a dream, but hadn't he done just that ten years ago? Every piece of me began to ache just a little, the muscle memory of it flashing through me in an emotional backdraft.

Edward sighed mournfully, reacting outwardly as if he felt the ache, too. The sound brought me back to myself, reminding me that this time it was just a dream. It became vivid in my mind then, the simple breath of regret shocking the color and definition back into a faded, foggy dream. I filled in the next part for him.

_The room darkened, the ceiling opened, and the sky fell in. Everything was drenched in red._

"A real 'Carrie' event," he snarked, the words flavored in his trademark self-loathing, but his body curled closer to mine, protectively. My lips parted in surprise. "That was when you started shaking."

"Shaking?" I repeated, my voice still rough, but I was happy it was finally working again. Despite the strange sound, I found myself distracted by his movement, whether it was subconsciously done or not. My breathing picked up ever so slightly.

"When I held you, you calmed."

I would have expected him to be smug or proud of that fact, but instead, remorse infected his words. Instead of enjoying his power, he regretted it, punishing himself for the damage inflicted. While it wasn't _un_true, it was unnecessary to shoulder, but I wasn't about to fight that particular battle today.

I suppose I should have been surprised by his effect on me, the ordeal of our reunion jerking us both back and forth emotionally, but really, it just made me long for more. More embraces, caresses … more of him. The natural chemistry we'd always had seemed to be magnified in his one simple statement. It had always been a frightening connection that equally elated me and scared me, once upon a time. Today, I was simply caught in a vortex of regret, hope, and discontent.

His hand slowly crawled over my hip and slid up my stomach to my chest, his palm resting flat against my heart, which sped and then slowed. It felt like an apology. Reflexively, my own hand covered his, the cool of his skin warming quickly. My body felt at war with my mind. It felt so good, so right, so … comforting. Yet, I was gun-shy, hesitant to relish the contact. I worried that it left me at risk of being hurt more than ever.

I didn't know how to respond to him when his statement and demeanor felt like polar opposites. He seemed to anticipate anger or disgust, even, his utter lack of self-worth projecting and coloring how he saw the world, including me. My eventual response surprised us both.

"Thank you," I whispered after a long pause, pregnant with thought and fascination. Considering how much he'd hurt me (and I, him in return), I suppose it shouldn't intrigue me so much that his touch had soothed me, even unconsciously, but it did. My mind reeled a bit, desperately holding myself back from reading anything into it. Because if I did, I wasn't sure I could handle being wrong again.

It took him a moment to process my gratitude, but when he did, I could have sworn I felt his entire being smile. _That_ I wanted to see, but when I began to move, shifting my weight so I could spin to face him, he held me tighter.

"No!" His instant shift to panic was palpable as he held me immobile. "Jasper, please don't look at me," he begged, his voice strained.

Before I could contest him, his lips pressed into the back of my neck, and the words died in my throat, the questioning wrinkles across my brow smoothing in kind. I marveled at the intense intimacy in the gesture despite the acute pressure of his hand on my chest, pulling me back against him.

Gasping, I fought my instinctual reaction where Edward was concerned, but my heart won that battle, rejoicing for the affection received. Tamping it down, I wondered if I'd truly gotten any rest; too easily, I seemed to flip-flop between the dark and light.

But the kiss on my skin was more than simple affection, it was a petition, an appeal. Desperation and dread, apprehension and guilt … all imparted by the touch of his lips.

I stilled, relaxing my attempt to turn, waiting and trying not to panic. My nerve-endings sparked and buzzed, my heart grappling with the desire for more and a desperate uncertainty.

"I need to tell you ...," he continued, hesitantly and nearly at a whisper. "I want to explain myself, and I … I just can't look in your eyes when I tell you."

My muscles reflexively contracted with fear, jumping with anticipation. I'd wanted more than anything to know what brought him to this point, why he disappeared, why he blamed me … but asking the questions had only served to build a thicker wall.

He sighed, probably in reaction to the chaotic way my mind spun after his reasoning. He sounded resigned and forlorn, something becoming far too common. My fingers laced through his, still held fast above my heart, and I squeezed. If I could give him the strength to speak by indulging the somewhat childish request, I would. The spotlight had been painfully bright and draining; I was stunned I could withstand it as long as I had. But it was his turn —_ finally_, and I would happily move offstage.

The air in the room seemed to lift, as though the encouragement took some of the weight off of him. An eternity seemed to pass before he finally spoke, though. I waited, attempting to be patient and not fidget, as though I hadn't been waiting for ten years to know what I hoped he would tell me.

Closing my eyes, I withdrew inside, wishing I could simply _feel_ his heartbeat or his chest expand with breath. Instead, I found myself fascinated by his energy. It was a life force in and of itself, despite the lack of the normal human physiology. And though his skin was cold, it thrummed with heat and spirit, as though his emotional turmoil took on a physical presence.

"I tried to kill myself," he said finally, his admission broken and quiet.

"After I woke up in that alley in the shittiest part of downtown, my head felt as though it'd been cracked open, and while nothing was broken, shockingly enough, everything hurt. I felt like a giant bruise. I don't know if I was just thrown from the car or what, but I was right next to a dumpster. Maybe he was aiming …," he trailed off, hesitating. "You were the first person I thought of once I got my bearings."

I was afraid to move, to _breathe_, for fear of stopping him. He had thought of me, but what did that mean? I had to force myself to stop the vicious whirl of questions before he caught wind of the storm in my head. Still again, I squeezed his hand within mine again.

A sharp intake of air marked his intent to move forward.

"My father had … he accused you of _corrupting_ me," he told me, mournfully. "He was convinced you had damned me to hell, and that I was already dead."

He chuckled lowly, surely thinking the last remark somewhat ironic. My heart lurched in my chest. I was outraged, but not for me, for him. I didn't give a shit if that bigoted sonofabitch thought I was some cartoon character recruiting his son for some evil, gay group bent on world domination, but Edward was his son, and deserved the benefit of the doubt. How could someone be so narrow-minded when it came to their child?

"He said I couldn't be _saved_. And for that, he should kill _you_ for … ruining me."

The posthumous threat was somewhat shocking, but it was easily forgotten in lieu of the accusation. I scoffed, disgusted by his father's ignorance and gall.

"When I found myself thrown out in the trash, I … well, I just wanted a way out."

I couldn't help it. I had to ask. "Why didn't you call me, Edward? Really. Please tell me why," I begged.

He sighed, almost annoyed. "I did, actually."

Alarm bells went off, dread filling my head and ears, my body surging with adrenaline.

"What?" I damn near shrieked. "You didn't … I never—"

"I left you a message," he admitted, a bit shamefully but so quietly I barely heard it over the retroactive panic in my head. "I just … I didn't say it was me. I couldn't say anything … I didn't know _what_ to say …"

I remembered suddenly, as clear as day, the message he meant.

"_I'm … I went away. My … I can't … I love you."_

The voice had been so garbled, so rough, I hadn't recognized it. I recalled thinking it was a drunk dial from a wrong number — one that I didn't recognize, so I disregarded it. In hindsight, of course, there was no mistake. I could identify every facet of Edward's broken tone as the memory grew in volume and mockery.

_FUCK! Why hadn't I answered my phone?_

Not that I could do anything about it now, but my heart railed against my ribs as if I should be trying. Regret was a tidal wave of its own, knocking me about, crushing and twisting me to its will. My voice was timid and uneven when I tried to speak.

"Oh, God, Edward, I'm so sor—"

"No, Jasper," he cut me off again, almost angry at the attempted apology. "You don't get to blame yourself for this."

Spinning quickly, I turned over so I could face him, my hands gripping his face. A flash of bewildered glee burned through me that he didn't stop me this time, but I forced myself to ignore the tiny, false victory.

He wouldn't look at me. I could feel the tears pooling in my lower lids, but I blinked them back. "Edward, what if I'd answered? I could have —"

"I said, 'no,'" he repeated, forcefully. "I was almost glad you hadn't, because at that moment, all I wanted was to be finished."

Unable to find words and too restless and heartbroken to stay still, I snaked my arms around him and clung to him, holding myself as close as I could. I didn't know who I was comforting, or _trying_ to comfort: him or me. Either way, I needed to try.

Leaning my cheek against his neck, I finally felt his arms wrap around me again, his hands gently settling on my shoulder blades.

"I walked to the main road," he whispered, the words falling down my back, pricking the skin like needles, "and right into traffic."

My arms coiled tighter around him, my muscles burning from the exertion, from holding on so tight. To hear him saying such a thing inflicted actual pain, and I thought if I held on tighter, it might make it stop. If I pulled him closer, maybe it would cease to be true. In my desperation, I felt like my embrace just might change the past.

"I don't remember anything about being hit. I saw the lights growing brighter, heard the horns blaring and then … nothing."

In my mind, I could see him, despondent and alone, facing death with relief, and it killed me. A sob broke free, my chest heaving just once, and to my surprise, Edward moved to calm me, his palms brushing up and down my back, soothing me.

"You didn't die, though." My voice was childlike and cracking, a bit of a whine dusting its edges. "How—"

He continued then, as though I hadn't spoken, perhaps caught up in memory. "Just nothing … until, fire. Everywhere. All over me, all through me … nothing but fire."

I could feel and hear his distance, his mind obviously far from here. In a strange irony, I'd never felt his skin more cold. Perhaps I'd absorbed his pain, too. As I touched him, felt him within my grasp, listened and analyzed, as I couldn't help but to do, he seemed … peaceful.

I couldn't fathom that he could be at peace with any of it, I'd be an idiot to think he was. I realized then that he was so traumatized, it was practically paralyzing him.

"I was burning alive."

"I don't understand," I declared quietly. "What does that mean?"

He didn't answer, his body gone deathly still. Within a blink's breadth of time, Edward's physical support disappeared, leaving me feeling exposed, all the more vulnerable, and chilled to the bone.

Falling forward to my stomach, I remained face down for a moment as I tried to calm myself, to find a stable place from which to continue. From across the room, he finally answered. I moved to sit up, studying him as he spoke.

"When you become a monster, first you must be branded by hell," he growled, his demeanor and tone dramatically different than moments before. "Changing from human to … _vampire_," he spat the word, echoing his disdain for himself, "is three days of flames through your veins, across your skin, consuming your bones, your soul … everything you were is ash by the end."

I felt like we were back at square one, his self-hatred renewed and stronger than ever. I scrubbed my face, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. "Christ, Edward, don't you see you are _still here_? You are still YOU!"

Exasperated, I slid off the bed, padding over to him, where he pressed his back into the door. I slowed when I was within a couple steps of him, leaving a bit of space and holding my hands up as though approaching a dangerous, feral animal. I was cautious, but still determined and confident.

Placing one hand on his chest and sliding the other sliding over his cheek, I looked in his eyes. His true self had shrunk back, shriveled into a ball at the recollection of his transformation. I refused to reverse our progress.

"I know you can't change — _we_ can't change what happened," I told him, amending to band us together. With my palm above his still heart, I pressed on. "But if finding you, … i-if the past few days haven't shown how much of _you_, your spirit, your soul, your _heart_ remains intact, I … I don't …"

My words failed, my tongue unable to voice the frustration and insistence that I felt. I was angry that he refused to see it, furious that he could only see evil when he was anything but.

_You are Edward, _I thought, as clearly and lovingly as I could manage. _You are MY Edward._

I continued to plead my case silently, reminding him in images and thoughts of everything he'd done: I fell, he caught me. I was starving, he fed me (an extravagant meal, at that. I'd have been satisfied with a microwaved burrito). I was freezing in wet clothes, he warmed and clothed me. Simple things, yes, but irrefutable evidence of humanity, if you asked me.

His hesitation magnified his need to believe it, but he fought it. Edward was nothing if not stubborn. "I'm not," he whispered, his voice on the precipice of tears, but it wasn't a firm denial.

"If you weren't," I argued, closing the distance between us, "I would never have stayed this long. If you weren't, I wouldn't still be in love with you."

My chest touched his, our faces inches apart. My lips vibrated in such close proximity to his, as though being this close and not touching, kissing, were sinful.

"I'm …"

His certainty had weakened. My heart pounded, doubling its rhythm to beat for both of us. Raising his arms, they formed a cage around me, but not touching yet. In a moment, he would yield, his resolve proven false. I pressed forward, my nose lightly brushing the side of his.

_My Edward._

Blinking three times in quick succession, his bravado faded completely, and I nearly danced with joy for the miraculous concession. Swallowing hard, he connected our lips, mumbling between us.

"I'm your Edward."

* * *

**A/N:** The usual adoring thanks to Nae & Mal for whipping this into shape. I appreciate your help more than you know. More soon, I hope. :)


	12. Closer

***_Taps glass*_ Anyone still there? I know Nae is, but anyone else? ;) I'm sorry this has taken so long, peeps. RL is a bitchwhore. I'm sure you understand that. Thanks, as always, to Nae & Mal for betafication. You make me better. **

**Without further ado, a chapter I think you've been waiting (long enough) for ...**

* * *

"_I'm your Edward."_

His reluctant but ardent confession unleashed havoc on my body. Protected only by a fragile cage of bone, the frantic, devoted muscle in my chest railed ecstatically against its confines. Its persistent drumming quickly filled my ears, drowning the possibility of any thought or doubt ruining a heart's triumph, however tenuous.

All I knew was him. All I _wanted_ was him.

His lips were heaven against mine, his arms locking around me tenderly, hesitantly. After a few achingly long seconds, he parted his mouth, pulling my bottom lip between his. I couldn't have stopped the moan from escaping my throat had I wanted to.

_More._

Whether acquiescing my silent request or simply agreeing, he hummed, no longer uncertain. At the moment, I was overcome. He had relented, somewhat guiltily admitting to be the Edward I knew and loved. It was small yet still monumental, a validation worthy of reward. I intended to give one ... or I supposed it could be the other way around.

One hand on his cheek, I slid the other up his chest to cradle his face as I kissed him. It was insanely gratifying to kiss him and feel free to do so, and even more so for him to kiss me back, _really_ kiss me back. It was liberation from a restraint I hadn't realized I'd imposed on myself. It had crawled across the years like vines, heartily infecting and suppressing any other relationship I'd had, romantic or otherwise. I'd been bound — my own doing, undoubtedly, but the self-preservation had been instinctual, never intentional.

Here with Edward, the gates were opened, knocked off their hinges and trampled to dust as I tried to kiss him with my whole body. Pushing forward with my chest, I tried to mold us together. Slipping my thigh between his, I brought us as close as I could with clothing still between us. As his palm pressed tighter against the base of my spine, my tongue went dancing across the tips of his teeth, no longer satisfied with tracing and sucking on his glorious pout.

A vibrating rumble in his chest growled a warning, and I knew he was concerned that I might get cut and bleed. I wasn't.

_Please, baby._

A quick, cool breath swept my mouth, a distinctly-Edward whine capping the end before strong arms lifted me up. My legs wrapped around his waist instantly, his kiss wasting no time of finding me again.

My heart and soul flew through an unstoppable roller coaster as I forced my mind to let go of all the questions, the uncertainties, the anger, the hurt. I couldn't go backward or forward right now, I could only stay here. Here with Edward. Here with the only reason for which my heart had, and would, ever beat.

I could sense vaguely that he was headed back toward the bed. Compared to the last time he had set me on my back, this was slow-moving — I felt every step. There was no surprise landing capable of knocking the wind out of me, there was only open seduction and mutual desire.

When we reached the bed, he stopped, standing still. Sliding lips and tongues, love and warmth, silence and breath … he kissed me, I kissed him. It was a physical conversation I couldn't remember ever having before. Obviously neither of us were innocents, nor were we strangers to each other's bodies. No matter what kind of interaction we'd had presently, no matter what kind of bond we thought we'd made ten years ago, _this_ was a new intimacy.

My entire body thrummed with electricity and anticipation. Amazement and wonder. I couldn't pin down exactly how I was feeling, but I knew I didn't want to analyze it or change it.

The carnal dialogue was a tug of war; it was his kiss, my embrace, his caress, my moan … all uniting in the delicious struggle between us. I didn't pay attention to the heat building, growing to alarming heights, demanding release. Unknowingly, my body addressed it for me, my hips rolling, my calves crossing and pulling tighter around him. His hands pulled at my hips, trying to crush me closer to him, to assert more pressure as I writhed.

My hands drifted from his face to tangle with his hair, trailing down to remember and rediscover with my fingertips the grooves in his shoulders and back, but it wasn't enough. Despite the passion and the hard press of his body against mine, I wished to feel skin.

_Why are you wearing a shirt?_ The thought escaped like an errant insect: instinctual, but honest. I was still amazed by the things this man did to me, made me do and think.

I chuckled briefly, surprised when he snorted and pulled back minutely, his tongue sliding along my bottom lip. I could feel a smirk tilting his lips. He sensed my surprise and hummed happily. My cheeks flushed hot with blood, as I was both aroused and a little flustered by his amusement.

His spine straightened almost audibly when he inhaled. Everything seemed to freeze, the action captured three-dimensionally from all angles, startlingly and harshly brought into focus. The only thing breaching the stillness was my ever-accelerating pulse. Fear tickled the periphery of my idealistic longing, the want that blinded me from logic. Would he deny _me_? I held my breath.

_No, no — please. Please, don't stop._

A restrained chuckle echoed through him, the sound humming around the tip of my tongue. He backed away to seek my eyes. They were still, clear, and despite the bright crimson iris, _completely_ Edward — everything that I remembered. Maybe I saw what I wanted to see, but at the moment, I couldn't be bothered to care. Despite the strange and confusing sense of calm he exuded, I was sure my heart would stop.

"You smell heavenly," he whispered penitently, almost apologetic, but there was a smile in his voice and his gaze, both sitting atop a subtle smirk. If I didn't know him as well as I did, I'd have missed it.

Still, as I examined everything from his rapidly relaxing posture to his casual nature at the moment, I admitted to myself that I was confused. I couldn't understand how he could be so _cavalier_ about the interruption when every other interaction between us had been so hard won ... and almost lost. Right now, it was absolutely natural, automatic. _Human_.

When his lips curled into a grin, I nearly shook with relief, a stuttering breath escaping from my burning lungs. I ignored the disconcerting shift as well as the implications — I refused to acknowledge the monster in the room, because I didn't truly believe in it. I knew _what_ he was now, but all I could see or feel was Edward. Smiling at me, _wanting_ me, holding me. And _that_ was real, not a dream or vivid memory.

_My_ Edward.

How could I deny him? I didn't want to think anymore and I sure as hell didn't want to stop. I didn't want to pick anything else apart. When his eyebrows began to rise, a ghost of the doubt that always plagued him trying to materialize, I melted in his arms and dissolved into his kiss.

_Read me, Edward. Don't think._

Fingers dug in my sides and his embrace coiled tighter while the phantom fled. His fleshy pout pressed harder into mine, flares of love and lust exploding powerfully — too powerful for even him to suppress.

I couldn't help but to be amazed at how strong our connection was, even now — even after ten years and worlds of hurt apart, not even turning into a mythical villain could destroy it.

Though I was sure he could probably have held me aloft forever, never tiring of carrying my weight, I wanted to feel _his_ weight on me. Edward smoothly continued moving us, walking his knees onto the mattress. Whether he saw the hopeful image in my mind or was simply speeding along the same track, it didn't really matter.

The soft luxury of the sheets on my back was amplified by the perfection hovering above me. He sat back on his feet and tore his shirt over his head. The fabric pulled past its capacity, tearing at the side seams thanks to his quickness and strength. My peripheral vision caught a fragment of the charcoal-colored scrap as he flung it toward the corner of the room, though nothing would take my focus entirely from the man in front of me.

My eyes followed the lines of his stomach and around the hard curves of his shoulders and chest, making a few rounds before following the wisps of rust-colored hair trailing down his abdomen. Reaching out, I tickled the hair with the tips of my fingers, aching with memory and hope and lust.

What I didn't realize was that he was walking the same visual rounds of me. When my gaze swept up to his face, I found his expression awestruck.

"What?" I asked in a whisper, puzzled yet charmed.

"You're even more beautiful now than you were ten years ago," he professed, each word a promise.

I tried to take the compliment easily, but if I was being honest with myself, my eyes stung with tears. I couldn't help but to be dumbstruck at the flattery. I'd heard the words from few people, and while I believed they liked what they saw, I didn't care what they thought. With Edward, for him to say that floored me.

Ducking down, his lips tenderly grazed mine. He might as well have doused me with gasoline and struck a match. He tripped a trail of fire with his kiss across my cheek and down my neck to the clavicle, circling the divot at the center with a cool tongue.

I could feel his arousal press against mine and I groaned, pulling at his body using my legs to bring him closer than was actually possible. Rotating my hips hard and fast to feel more of him, the flames began to consume me. My hands glided across his pale skin, marveling in the feel of him, both astonishingly new and as familiar as my own. I gripped his hair when he brought his mouth back to mine again, the kiss reaching more and more feverish heights with each new press of his body into mine.

The frenetic, wordless conversation continued through hands and tongues, thrusts and groans until finally his fingertips gripped at my waistband, and the boxer briefs were dragged from my body painfully slowly. Panting with excitement, I fumbled blindly with Edward's button-fly. Gently, he pushed my hands away, distracting me easily with a deep kiss that tickled my tonsils. He hummed, I moaned. My hands flew back up to cradle his face, to anchor myself before I was lost.

"Don't make me keep begging you, Edward," I gasped against his lips a good minute later, and desperate. _I need to feel you inside me ... _now.

His eyes snapped to focus on mine, the black consuming the red. His surprise was evident, the energy shift rippling the air around us, but more perceptible was his fire, his desire.

"Fuck," he groaned, low and gravelly. His hips jerked towards mine reflexively, his long fingers wrapping around my arousal.

My head fell back a moment, slightly awed by the pleasure of _finally_ feeling his hands on me again. Breathing heavily, I agreed with him. "Exactly."

His answering smile was so beautiful, it was immoral, but too quickly it faded. My stomach dropped, and I would have been concerned, but he closed the distance between us and spoke softly against my lips.

"I won't do that," he breathed with the distinct air of mischief, the only thing preventing me from questioning him. "Not when all I can think about is making love to you."

My undeniable consent was my smile, my kiss.

Sooner than I could comprehend, his jeans were gone and his body was next to mine, skin to skin. Exhilarating and elated could never cover how I felt. Anywhere we were touching, I was charged, wound tight, starving and eager for him.

Running his nose along my neck, I shivered, closing my eyes briefly as he licked over my pulse. Pulling away from me slightly, he held my gaze as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, trailing his tongue down his each digit, thoroughly coating his palm. Admittedly, I almost started drooling myself. He kissed me before I could think too much — not that coherent thoughts were anything plaguing me at the moment.

My knees high on his ribs, my ankles locked over his spine, I disappeared into sensation when I felt his beautiful, slick fingers preparing me. It had been at least a year since I'd even been with anyone, even longer since I'd been topped, so the stretch was strange and wonderful. Knowing it was Edward doing so made the experience all the more erotic.

The added feeling of warmth and intensified tingling thrilled me. "The venom," he whispered, no doubt in response to my internal question.

He surprised me when he began to stroke my prostate, but I moaned loudly in approval. "Oh God, Edward ... I'm ready. Christ, am I ready..."

He growled in anticipation, surely thanks to the imagery in my head and my lips and tongue crawling needfully along his neck.

Slamming my head back into the pillow, he took my kiss as he took me. All at once, I felt complete, and it had just begun. The physical sensations were fiercely intense, but it was nothing compared to the way my heart tripped and stomped, my emotions frenzied with extraordinary joy. As he moved inside me, my world split parallel.

Simultaneously, I was eighteen and twenty-nine, consumed by first love and true love, but freed from the fetters of an irrationally damaged heart. It was then and now, constantly entwining and unraveling with every connection.

Perhaps Edward's cool countenance kept me from literally overheating, but still my skin was soon slippery with my perspiration. Our two forms molded together, my fingers slipping along his back, his arms, teasing him and taunting him in ways I remembered he loved. From the sounds he made, I was passing with flying colors. And _oh how we flew..._

My eyes would wander the ceiling and drift closed before snagging on his face. I would stare as we swayed and pitched together, sometimes slowly, sometimes at a pace I could barely comprehend. Throughout it all, time was inconsistent, folding and twisting around itself, but Edward? His face wrinkled with ecstasy and pain, pain from self-control. He was holding back, and my mind was too overstimulated to make sense of why he would.

Just as the inundation of pleasure swept my curiosity away, I felt the sprinkle of dust and scraps on my face. A hollow, crumbling sound followed, my senses obviously corrupted. Edward's fingers had punctured the plaster in the wall above me, his palm dragging through the top of the bedframe as he grasped at control.

In my state, I laughed in immediate reaction, a bit like a carefree drunk where everything seems great. Edward cursed and I snapped my attention to his face. He ground his teeth and pinched his eyes shut.

Lifting my lips to his, I told him, _Come. I want to feel it._

He snarled, barking his frustration. "Not without you."

Dropping so his chest pressed into mine, he gripped me, rhythmically stroking me into bliss like a well-versed lover, as though he'd never forgot ... because he hadn't.

My orgasm tore through me, the release, an earthquake of rapture with dangerously close aftershocks. As I navigated the decline, Edward lunged forward, screaming into his release over my shoulder into the mattress. I gripped him with my arms and legs as best I could, though my bones were dissolving within my limbs. Coaxing him to his crest, I touched my lips to his ear, whispering and mumbling.

"I love you, Edward ... forever. You have my heart ... you never gave it back. I'm yours ..."

He stilled, tensing as he fell over the edge, but next I knew, an acute pain devoured me as Edward's teeth sliced into my flesh. Instinctual panic flooded my body with adrenaline, but I was paralyzed as he drank deeply.

"Mine."


	13. Downdraft

"_Mine."_

A thick black veil seemed to lift when my eyes finally opened. With the coarse, beautiful yell of his orgasm echoing around my head like distant thunder through a canyon, I expected to find him above me still. Smiling, claiming. Real.

But the light in the room was wrong. The weight on my chest, my body, was unnatural.

My eyes couldn't focus right away, sluggish blinks finally revealing the grotesquely bland pattern of watermarked ceiling tiles surrounding a panel of fluorescent lighting.

Confusion quickly dissolved into pure panic.

I tried to speak, to scream my denial, but my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, my lips cracking, bleeding to part. My sight blurred again as I blinked, as though my natural tears had thickened to paste. I couldn't get my limbs to move — they were exhausted and sore, heavy with sedation and, as I could finally see when I turned my head, restrained with canvas belts.

Settling on sound, I stuttered and spit as I fought, struggling with any energy I could muster against my bindings, despite the pain it caused deep within my bones, as if everything was broken. As I felt hands pressing my shoulders down, warm hands, I knew he was gone, and finally a discernible word emerged in a wounded howl.

"Edward!"

The mourning, the utter despair in the sound, guttural and raw, was palpable, and the force of it dropped me back to the bed. The pillow beneath me stiff and uncomfortable, I was suddenly defeated and spent. Silence rushed over me and the various sounds of this foreign room filled my ears.

Beeps. IV drips. The low hum of a crappy TV signal. And Emmett.

At first, the realization he was here triggered shock — I didn't quite know what to make of it yet. I had pulled so far away from my real life while I was with Edward that all of a sudden the familiar was terrifying. The people I loved and cherished were characters from a well-worn storybook.

"I don't even know who that is! Was he dating someone? I never met an Edward," his bass tone warbled with distress as he fought to maintain some semblance of a respectful whisper.

Clicks. Shuffles. A door jamb squeaking. _Alice_.

My heart beat unevenly — I could hear the jump and pitch of the monitor. My friends, my family ... and yet I felt an overwhelming sense of abandonment, and horribly selfish and juvenile for it. Alice had been my rock when my father got sick three years before, and she and Em even drove with me to move my mom to her condo in South Carolina last year after Dad died.

Yet, while feeling like every nerve-ending was exposed, I was numb. Sweating with anxiety, I was cold. Caged. Livid. Isolated and bare. Inconsolable. My every thought was a maelstrom, sucking me further down, and I had no idea if I would ever reach bottom. Or worse, make it back to the surface.

"It doesn't make sense," she mumbled, as if to herself. "He hasn't ... I mean, that was before we met!"

"What wa — who? When? No one tells me anything!" Emmett snaps, grumbling.

The complicated, toxic blend of emotion churned in my stomach, violently brewing a nausea that might bring up a lung. I coughed and growled, hoarsely sputtering forth any noise that might exorcise my distress. My throat was too dry, only pathetic choking sounds emerging as angry tears pooled, their heat stinging my dry cheeks as they raced over my chin and down my neck.

"Step back, please," an unfamiliar voice insisted. A nurse, I assumed, because I soon felt the deluge of chemical relaxation warming my veins, washing everything away against my will.

My eyelids drooped and I battled against it, but with little to no energy to back me up, I quickly lost.

* * *

"Why am I strapped to this bed like a fucking criminal?" I groused, my throat raw and dry. I hadn't bothered to open my eyes when I regained consciousness. The somber mood held in solidarity by Emmett and Alice permeated my skin, making it crawl and itch.

"Jazzy, honey, you were hysterical," Alice tried to explain, her footsteps quickly traversing the linoleum until her delicate fingers wrapped around my forearm, above the wrist cuff. I opened my eyes to see the tears in hers, spilling down her cheeks as she stuttered a breath and continued. "When they were trying to work on you, you were kicking, punching ... they had to hold you down so they could stop the bleeding. Honey, what—"

"What happened?" Suddenly, Emmett was at my other side, looking somewhat hysterical himself.

As guilty as I felt for worrying them, I couldn't override the anger toiling in my chest and barked an order.

"Off," I growled, my jaws clenching. "Take the restraints off. Now."

The two of them were immediately silent in awe. It was rare either of them had heard me this angry, if ever. My emotions had been in constant check for years. Edward had destroyed the lock, ripping the door right off its hinges. Now, there was no tempering it, no dam to stem the tide. So, for my closest and dearest friends, my behavior was definitely a surprise.

Although the guilt flared, burning its way up my throat, it washed away in a chilling wave of frantic determination. I had to get out of here. I _had_ to find Edward. I had to know why... I had to ... I ... had no idea how I was going to do that. Where was my bike? Where the hell was I when I broke down? I'd seemed to have lost all sense of direction the second I'd stepped across his threshold. Would I even be _able_ to find him again?

"Of course, honey," Alice agreed softly, chastised. The guilt re-inflated.

Awkward silence filled the gaps between the clinks and brushes of the fabric as they unfastened the belts around my wrists and ankles.

"Just ... could ya, maybe take a breath and try to calm down, man?" Emmett pleaded quietly — almost too quiet. I got the distinct feeling he might have been afraid of what I might do.

I didn't respond, but thankfully, I felt relief as the cuffs fell away from my skin, tingling where it'd been sufficiently chafed. Apparently, I'd fought against them for a while.

Two of my best friends in the world, my family, stood in place, waiting expectantly to hear the story of where I'd been and what had happened to me, but not a word came forth. I was too angry, too heartbroken to tell them anything. I only had words for one person. One person that did not want to hear them.

"Jazzy?" Alice prompted, lightly resting her hand on mine. "Please talk to us."

With nothing but negative emotions and responses, I immediately shut down, warring within myself though I somehow felt completely detached. Shame wrapped around my throat, filling my mouth with cement. My eyes drifted up to the ceiling and fixed, the whole of me still, save the hot tears unleashed and silently racing down my cheeks.

"Oh honey," she whimpered, and I knew she was crying with me. Her breath hitched as she began to sob, her soft fingers instinctively wiping my face.

"Jasper Lee Whitlock," Emmett demanded, desperate to know _something_, but I just couldn't do a thing about it. His parental growl was more offense and hurt feelings than anger, though upsetting Alice usually provoked the protective bear. Who could blame him?

Alice made a shushing noise, annoyed just like a mother would be, and I descended lower, convinced I was now more of a burden than their friend. Quietly, she addressed him, but loud enough for my benefit, "If he needs more time, he needs more time. We can wait."

Slipping away, I failed to pay attention any longer, the pressure of her fingers wrapped around mine faded, growing lighter until nonexistent. Their voices and any other ambient noise gradually silenced until there was nothing. My eyes remained locked on the curve of a cracked ceiling tile until even that dimmed and disappeared, when I was lost to the whirlpool of broken memories of Edward, then and just days before.

I had no idea how long I meandered far from linear consciousness, but the sharp jerk of Emmett's chair snapped me back into focus.

"Em, would you mind heading home and relieving Angela? She's been there all day and I'm sure she has homework," Alice asked.

I blinked rapidly, clearing the fog. I noted the room had darkened, the light of day diminished into evening.

Emmett looked at her briefly before nodding, a tight-lipped smile stretched thin. He turned to go and stopped, reversing until he was leaning against the bed railing.

"I'll see you tomorrow, OK, man?" he said, pointedly looking in my eyes. "In the morning?"

Pausing, I glanced at Alice, noting the level of concern on her face. I wasn't quite sure whether it was for me or for her husband.

"Yeah, Em," I assured him, but my voice was flat. "Tomorrow."

Eyeing me warily, he held my gaze for too long. "You'll be here."

I considered carefully why he was paranoid that I was going to disappear. I'd never acted like this, I was never out of touch with them. It was understandable, but that didn't erase my annoyance.

"Yes."

"Rosie really misses you and I'm bringing her to see you."

"Where the fuck am I going to go?" I snapped, my voice cracking as exhaustion and grief steamrolled over me. I waited for another slap of guilt, but I was so saturated in every kind of defeat, all I _could_ feel was paralyzed.

Emmett stepped backwards suddenly, a look of near-terror on his face. I toyed with a sense of envy. Though I had become weighted under a self-condemning sort of anesthesia, the people who cared about me brimmed and pulsed with worry, relief, love, concern ... and I couldn't connect. I was miles away, drowning.

"Baby, I'll call you when I'm on my way home," Alice said gently, but firmly, all but ordering him to leave. Anticipating his response, she continued, "I'll get a cab, Emmett. It'll be fine."

With a sour look on his face, he finally nodded and headed out the door, stomping like a punished teenager. The moment his footsteps disappeared down the hallway, Alice walked around the bed and gingerly crawled over the rail, curling up as she tucked herself into my side, tossing my arm around her shoulders. I tried to absorb the comfort she offered, but I was walled off.

Sounding so small and scared, she whispered, "Please tell me what happened, Jasper. What does this have to do with Edward?"

I realized with a stab of self-hatred, it wasn't comfort she was offering — it was what she needed.

"I ... I can't ...," I stopped and started, unable to decide how to explain, or even _if_ I wanted to. The clash of guilt and anger, of resentment and grief, hurt ... it shifted and swirled as if outside of me, dangling in front of my nose taunting me. Horrified, I moved my opposite arm across my body, brushing my fingertips across Alice's cheek in attempt to both give her what she longed for, and to remember my own compassion.

I dropped my arm back to my side, the extent of my injury smarting at the impact. Lightly, I rolled my head side to side to feel the pull of stitches and bandages at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Alice wiggled her hand around to squeeze mine resting limply at her back.

"He left me ... again," I whispered, the agony of the words piercing through the numbness, my chest, my soul. My eyes closed, pinching together painfully as the last moments with Edward came back in a tempest of torrid emotion.

_Any light in the room, natural or via candlelight, flickered and grew dimmer. I had no idea how much he had drank, but my limbs felt heavy and though my pulse pounded with panic, I was incredibly weak._

"_Ed ...," I managed to rasp. I didn't know what I was asking. Would he kill me? Would he change me? Did I even want to be changed? I couldn't answer any of those questions, and that, more than anything, terrified me._

_Suddenly, he froze. Heat spilled over my chest as my blood escaped the wound. He pulled back slightly, staring in horror at his handiwork._

_"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?__"* he murmured darkly, not speaking to me._

"_What?" I asked, blinking hard, fighting for lucidity. My breath was labored and I wondered if I might pass out. "What the fuck ... are you talk ... talking about?"_

_His bright red eyes shift to me, wide and dangerous. "I wanted you. I wanted you back. I wanted us."_

"_I ... I did, too. I do," I professed, but it sounded more like a plea, a bitterly hopeful one at that._

"_It was selfish and wrong," he hissed, his gaze pulled back to my neck._

_In a flash, he disappeared only to reappear a moment later, his shirt balled in his pale fist. He pressed the shirt against my neck._

"_No," I moaned feebly, the late response to his condemnation. "You're not ... monster."_

"_I'm taking you to the hospital," he announced, his voice clipped and tight, almost clinical._

"_NO!" I tried to scream, but it was airy and quiet. My body was a leaden weight, and black holes began to eat through my fields of vision. "Edward ... please ... just wait, I ..."_

_Ignoring me, he dressed me rapidly — so much so, I barely felt it except for the constant movement. Internally, the panic was a jet engine in my head, a thousand nails on chalkboards. I was helpless, and he just wouldn't listen._

_Cursing and muttering to himself, I caught the occasional word or phrase. "Won't change," or "clean," or even "never should've," but I couldn't anchor it. Pressing my lungs for every bit of air, I tried to voice something ... _anything_, but he wouldn't respond._

_Slowly, my eyelids closed and it took everything I had to open them again. When I did, I was in his arms and the world was rushing by in an unidentifiable blur of grey, black, and Edward. Focusing on his face, set in morbid determination, I realized he was running. With me in his arms._

_I still couldn't move. I couldn't feel the wind on my skin, my body didn't feel like my own. I was freezing and I could hardly breathe._

"_You won't change," he said, his voice miraculously above the wind. Somehow, I would hear him above the eruption of a volcano. I would hear him over anything. "I should have managed to clean the venom from your blood. I'm so sorry, Jasper."_

_I wanted to speak. I wanted so badly to tell him I forgave him, even if I didn't. I tried to think it, but even my mind was anemic and incapacitated._

No.

_I could see his eyes close._

Don't leave.

_He seemed to snort, a humorless wriggle of his nose._

Please. Love.

_I could barely see his face, but I knew that look of torment. I wanted to say more, to push him like I had before, but I couldn't muster anything but a rough breath. "Please ..."_

_It wasn't audible, I didn't think, anyway, but it got him to look at me. I saw such pain, such anger, I wasn't sure what to make of it. Was he angry with me?_

_His eyes closed again._

"_There was so much I wanted to ... to give you, to thank you for. Instead, I only took. I still take, I ... I have nothing to give you but death, damnation, horror."_

_The statement stirred such a force in me, I swore I growled. "No ...," I whined, sparsely and quiet. _

_The frustration with my apparent inability to even communicate through the easiest possible venue to Edward exhausted me, my eyes shutting again. I felt like I was screaming from behind my lids as they shut like a cell door. Like my last chance to keep him near me was on the other side._

_When my eyes opened again, whatever I was looking at was not in focus. My ears pricked with strange noises: squeaking tennis shoes, rough rolling wheels, phones ringing and loudspeakers squawking with pages. _

Hospital_. _

"_He was attacked by some animal. Maybe a mountain lion?" Edward's smooth tenor seeped into my chest and soothed my aching heart, I almost wanted to smile until I realized he was going to run. He was going to leave me here alone._

_Alarm trampled over my chest, threatening to flatten my spirit and fight in the process. The unintelligible howl that I emitted amazed me, in that I couldn't understand how I was capable of such a noise at this point. It was not the calm attempt to reason with Edward that I wanted, but I had no time. As it was, it only served to usher him away from me faster._

_Voices and clicks, pressure and cold. The flurry of activity and doctors or nurses barking orders around me shrouded him, allowing him the opportunity to disappear. With the last gasp of a dying man, a surge of strength flooded me, my arms and legs flailing, kicking and striking at anything I could reach._

"_Don't—!" I managed to yell, hoarsely, before arms and hands snapped me back to the gurney I was on. "No ..."_

_Amidst the chaos in restraining me, the hushed dismissal in my ear was loud and violent._

"_Goodbye, Jasper. I love you."_

* * *

**A/N: **::ducks:: I don't know if I warned you there was gonna be a little heartfail? You knew it wasn't gonna be moonlight & roses, but ... I hope I haven't lost anyone with this! The next chap will be up very soon. I plan to try & keep this momentum going through the end of the story. Thanks to Naelany & Mal for their usual betafications; you both keep me afloat! xoxo

*****This quote is actually from Jeremiah 17:9, just FYI.


	14. Bitter

**I know. Why do promise to be "sooner" EVER? So, I'll stop making promises, but know that I will never abandon it! Thanks to Nae & Mal for the "homework" and everything. MWAH! **

**OK, let's get to it ...**

* * *

"_Goodbye, Jasper. I love you."_

When I reemerged from the depths, Alice was gone, but Emmett sat in a nearby chair, his head hung down as he methodically gnawed at each fingernail.

I looked around briefly, noting the light in the room — it was different, brighter. I'd been moved. How had I gotten here? Where the hell was Alice? Alarm flashed through my muscles like a brush fire. I tried to recall anything since Alice had curled up with me, but as soon as I'd told her "he left me, again," my stomach twisted with nausea and my chest felt like they'd put an anvil on it to keep me still.

My mind was chaotic, unable to properly organize or clarify anything about my missing time. I felt like an amnesiac, though bizarrely, _that_ didn't upset me. Maybe it was soothing, maybe I was still too numb. Or maybe ... maybe it was simply a mercy.

Finally, as the aches and stiffness throughout my body seemed to echo itself, bouncing from end to end, I fought my way through the heavy fog to try and anchor myself.

"Where am I?" I asked, hoarse. My eyes opened a little wider, the dried-up sound of my voice somehow foreign to me, like it belonged to someone who'd been screaming for days on end.

His head popped up, his face in a confused state of shock. Jumping up from the chair and aggressively stepping forward, he gripped the railing on the side of the bed so hard, I thought it might crumble between his fingers.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he hissed, exasperated.

I struggled to make sense of the question — I had no idea how to answer that. Anger rolled off him like an avalanche which only served to frustrate me more, so I blinked hard a few times in hopes it might help me see things more clearly, literally and figuratively.

Irritated and disoriented, I mumbled, "I don't ... what? What does that mean?"

Turning so his back was to me, he sighed, dropping into the chair with resignation and harshly rubbed a hand over his face.

"You've been catatonic for two days," he muttered darkly, still simmering below the surface.

_Two days? I lost two more days?_

My head pounded, trying to assimilate how that could be possible, but I was distracted from the conundrum by the man in front of me now. The poor guy looked like he hadn't slept in days — bags under his eyes, beard-shadow, rumpled clothes. Maybe he hadn't. I hadn't seen Emmett like this since Rosie had to go to the ER for an extremely high fever.

It surprised me, though, when my stomach dropped, heavy with guilt. It wasn't as though I wasn't aware of what all of this was doing to my friends, but for the first time since I woke in the hospital, I experienced an appropriate physical and emotional response. It made me feel human again. And even more devastated.

"Alice said you just ... I don't even know, man. Like you just ... _shut off_ or some shit. They moved you here to the psych wing because you wouldn't respond to a goddamn thing," he continued. Looking up at me, his eyes burned. "My wife cried herself to sleep when she got home."

I couldn't say anything. I didn't know _what_ to say. I felt horrible, sure, but what he was indirectly demanding was an explanation. A reason. How could I possibly give him one? It all seemed inexcusable to me, and from his or even Alice's perspective, possibly insane.

Trapped in the nightmare of my last moments with Edward, I had been incapacitated, beyond reach. Strangely, instead of feeling lower, sinking back into despair, fire washed over my face and tore through my lungs as I tried to process how absolutely livid I was.

"I'm ... I'm sorry," I croaked through clenched teeth. _And so tired. Fuck rollercoasters. Between my head and my heart, I'm a prisoner of the perfect storm._

"For what?" he balked, staring at me as if even more pissed. "Almost dying? Getting attacked by an animal? Jesus, Jazz, I didn't mean I ... I'm not mad at _you_, but ... y'know, I don't blame you. But, shit, I'd have fucking killed you if you died!"

My eyes cut to his face at that, anger dissipating a little when a snort erupted, cracking my cheeks in a small smile of amusement.

His eyes went wide. "A smile? Christ, I thought for sure those muscles in your face had been frozen in reverse."

The levity was welcome, soothing my soul if just a bit. Unfortunately, the moment lapsed quickly and the weight on my chest that had briefly lifted settled back down. I tried to speak again, but my throat was so dry, it ended up spurring a coughing fit.

Emmett stood slowly and sighed as he walked out of the room. Moments later, he returned with a plastic pitcher and a cup of water. I shifted to sit up fully, wincing at the myriad of pains from the movement. Doing my best to ignore it, I guzzled down water. The chill slipped down my throat and spread through my lungs, seeping into my spine comfortingly.

He acknowledged the ambient reverse to maudlin with an awkward clearing of his throat, preparing himself to confront the elephant in the room.

"Jasper," he began, his voice so quiet, so cautious, it startled me. "I get that you must've gone through something ... potentially inexplicable. So instead of harassing you to describe it in detail, just tell me this: will you be _okay_?"

He wasn't asking if my body would heal. I stared at him for a little while, hoping to find a way to say yes. His face so earnest, his voice almost childlike in its hopefulness, I tried to lie. Pursing a weak grin, I took a deep breath.

"Of cou—"

"Don't fucking lie to me, man."

Reflexively, I recoiled as the sudden aggression propelled him out of the chair to a somewhat combative stance, eyes full of warning. Slipping my gaze to his hands, I watched him roll his knuckles, clenching each fist one at a time.

_Bullshit-o-meter in tip-top shape today._

Emotionally raw, I exhaled audibly through my nose. My whole body prickled with cresting rage.

"What, Em? You _wanna_ hear that I'll never be okay? That I'm completely fucking destroyed? You have _no fucking idea_ what I have been through the last few days. You wouldn't even believe me if I told you. Why can't you just take the lie and enjoy it? Sleep tight! I am _barely_ breathing right now and you're asking me to be _okay_?" My sour voice was grating, painful even to my own ears as it broke with fatigue and outrage.

He staggered back as if the words had been a physical blow. Eyes wide with shock, the color drained from his face as he struggled to shoulder the helplessness he radiated.

"I ... I didn't—"

"I'm tired," I interrupted, turning with considerable effort away from him, toward the opposite wall and tiny window. The ire seared my skin as I tried to temper it, to smother it and relax, but it was David battling Goliath, and I had no slingshot.

Still reeling, he stuttered a bit, trying to compose himself. "Yeah, s-sure. Of course you are, man. Yeah, get some rest."

His remorse and fear pelted me in the back like acid rain as he withdrew, his footsteps bound for the door, but I couldn't bring myself to ease his burden. I heard him pause in the frame, his hand squeaking as it slid over the molding.

"We love you, Jasper," he said sincerely, in defense. "_I_ love you. You're family to me, to us — you know that. And despite what you think, you could tell us anything _if_ you wanted to. We just ..." He stopped to huff, defeated. "Whatever it is you need, we want for you. That's all."

With that, he left. The storm veered in yet another direction, stamping out the fire with tears.

My stomach echoed the emptiness, raucously growling. I groaned quietly and rolled over, my muscles still plenty sore. Before I could reach for the call button, the door opened and a woman walked in with a small tray of food.

_It's like they could hear me._

I smiled flatly at the woman, who set up the tray but didn't leave. Annoyed, I raised my eyebrows in question as she stood expectantly in front of me.

"I guess you don't remember me," she said, a little singsong in her voice. "I'm Dr. Cullen. Esme? Alice's fertility doctor?"

I blanched, a dull spark of embarrassment pinking my cheeks. Examining her face again, I tried to reconcile my memory with the woman in front of me. She seemed impossibly younger than before, and her eyes exceptionally brighter. I'd thought they were a warm green, but looking now, they seemed almost golden. Had I never really noticed these things?

Despite the fact that I hadn't recognized her at first, I still felt ill-equipped to be polite. "Right, yeah, I remember," I answered finally.

When I said nothing further, she cleared her throat and began walking around the end of the bed as though lecturing to a class. "I was very concerned when I heard what had happened. I spoke with Alice and Emmett yesterday for a while ... they care so much for you."

"I'm well aware," I snapped. "I don't need confirmation — I do just fine with guilt on my own."

Her surprise at my tone registered briefly on her face before it disappeared, melting into near delight. "I'm sure you do, dear, but that's not why I mentioned it," she replied, her tone so gentle it was patronizing. "They were so puzzled over the injuries and the sheer lack of details on the attack, so I decided to look at the photos that they took in the ER."

Cold pitted itself in my stomach, bleeding fear and anxiety out into my limbs. I didn't know where she was going with this, but my breathing picked up as my discomfort grew. I stared at the tray and picked up a fork, pushing the food around.

"So? I don't remember much."

I felt like I was being grilled by my mother.

"It wasn't a mountain lion."

My eyes snapped to hers. Her lips tilted in a smug smile, like she was toying with me. Like she knew _everything_, but wasn't going to admit it until I spilled my guts.

"Maybe a bear? I don't know, like I said, I can't remember," I lied, my eyes steady, unblinking.

"_Not_ a bear," she told me, stating fact, not assumption.

Involuntarily, I gulped as if being cornered. Bitterness flared and spread painfully to the tips of my fingers. Edward, impassioned and feral in his lovemaking, manifested before my eyes as the memory of his teeth made me wince. A sliver of pain danced around the wound, still concealed by the bandages around my shoulder.

She tilted her head knowingly, but didn't speak. She seemed to be waiting for me, so I ignored her. Scooping up a mouthful of potatoes, I started shoveling food in as though I were alone. I had to choke the food down, but I managed. Sensing her amusement at my juvenile stubbornness, I swallowed the last bite and slammed my fork down. Looking up at her again, I barked, "What? _What?_"

Turning away, she walked to the door silently and spun slowly to face me, her hand on the doorknob. "I'd like you to speak with my husband. I think he can help you."

She smiled warmly even though my returned expression was surely baffled and even indignant.

"I don't _need_ his help," I shouted at her retreating form. Indignant, I shrunk into the pillow behind me, growling in hopeless resignation, "No one can help me."

Hours later, having passed out from exhaustion, I woke to dark windows. The few sounds from outside my room were quiet and scant. Despite the certainty of some level of activity outside my now-closed door, I almost felt like the place was abandoned or haunted. That I was the last man alive.

Suddenly feeling restless, I shifted my position and tried to sit up. Stiff and achy, I dropped my feet off the side and slid off the mattress. I hissed at the shock of the cold linoleum as I landed shakily on my feet. Stepping slowly to the window, I peered out into the dark surrounding woods. Detail was barely discernible beyond the hospital grounds directly below, but the shadowy mass of trees morphed and rumbled before my eyes, taunting me.

"Do you feel better now that you _saved_ me?" I asked the shapes, my voice quiet but venomous. My jaw clenched and my teeth ground together as I whispered my condemnation, "Don't think ... don't think you've done me any favors, you sonofabitch."

Lightly touching the windowpane, I rested my forehead against it. Around my neck, the heavy albatross of heartbreak pulled me down again, and soon I found myself contemplating whether or not the window would open. I closed my eyes, shutting out the forest in front of me.

Testing the window's give, I pulled from the bottom until the seal broke. A break of suction preceded the wide gasp of air rushing out of my lungs, and icy winds rushing in and around my knees. Tracing the edge of the window, I thrust my head and shoulders into the night, my body following.

My pain was numbed and soothed, falling away with brutal gusts of winter over my skin. I reveled in the pressure against my face, my chest. I was almost free of all of it, everything ... gone.

A loud knock brought me back to myself, my nose bumping the glass as my eyes flew open, the window in place, immobile. Muddled, I inspected the window edge to edge. There was no way to open it.

Remembering the noise that stopped my grim musings, I spun deliberately to face the room behind me. Narrowing my eyes, I shuffled my feet toward my bed, stopping halfway. Not a thing was out of place, no face peeping through the tiny window in the door.

Except for the hollow feeling in my gut, it was unchanged. An ache that wasn't unfamiliar, but now renewed since I'd woken a little while ago. My heart began to speed, beating unevenly and wildly in my chest, forcing a deep breath into my lungs.

"Edward?" The word was bittersweet on my tongue, but it was a broken question. A plea, a judgement.

Twisting to examine every corner of the room, I found it empty, and myself ruefully disappointed.

_Great. Now I'm _actually_ crazy. I guess that's fitting since I'm in the psych wing._

Crawling into the surprisingly comfortable bed, I pulled the sheet and blanket over my head. My stomach twisted, the ache vacating, leaving me empty yet again.

Heavy and confused, I succumbed to another bout of sleep.

When I woke this time, the light of early morning was quite dim, though it faintly illuminated the edges of the sheet covering my face. I pulled it away to see a tall figure standing in front of the windows. My skin itched with hope, but my heart shied away, painfully retreating into its dark corner.

"Hello, Jasper."


	15. Tempest

"_Hello, Jasper__."_

Shivers ran down my spine as I processed the smooth, calm tenor. Though there were similarities resonating pleasantly in my ears, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end in response. It just wasn't Edward's voice — no matter how much I wished it were.

My heart plummeted, and I mentally berated myself allowing any such expectation to buoy my spirit at all. I rubbed my palm harshly against my chest in a vain attempt to wipe away the ache that bloomed in its place. Anger burned behind my eyes at my inability to eradicate irrational hope, hope that only hurt in the end.

"Interesting," my unwanted visitor mumbled to himself.

Though curious and irritated by his obvious and unwelcome evaluation of ... _something_ about me, I refused to ask. I felt similar when Edward had first admitted to reading my thoughts: vulnerable and a bit patronized. After all, my privacy had been invaded. Though I suspected nothing malicious about his comment, I was inexplicably insulted. Raising my walls once again, I launched an offensive.

"What do you want?" I snapped, my voice surprisingly sharp for just having woke. My throat still felt raw and sounded like I was recovering from a cold, but at least my head had stopped pounding.

He sighed before moving toward me, the dim light from the window gliding over his features and revealing a head of neatly styled blond hair, a kind smile, and quite a handsome face. He had the expression of someone about to climb a mountain or take on an army, which did nothing to help me to filter the mess in my mind.

"I want to help you," he said simply, sitting on the foot of the bed. "I know you don't think anyone can, but if you let me, I'm certain I —"

"Who are you?" I interrupted, feeling unnerved at his presumptuousness. He didn't make me uncomfortable or agitate me so much as that there was something innately calm and compassionate about him. It was soothing and just the fact that he was able to be either of those things simply pissed me off.

"Excuse me," he said apologetically, before standing and extending a hand. "I'm Carlisle Cullen. Esme's husband? I work as a psychologist here in the mental health facility."

I stared at him, recalling her suggestion. Suddenly, the lack of daylight reminded me how late, or early, it still was. I glanced at the clock.

_5:39 AM._

"Pretty damn early in the day for a consultation, isn't it?" I snarked, ignoring his offer of greeting. My hackles still raised, I felt like I was sitting on a ledge without any center of balance as I eyed him. My fingers curled around the hem of my t-shirt as if gripping handrails.

Eyebrows raised, he raised both hands in supplication, lightly laughing. "No, no. I'm not evaluating or offering counseling. Well, not exactly — this is more about," he paused, perhaps mulling over how to break me down, "what brought you here. Or rather, who."

_That_ caught my attention. Still physically sluggish and tired, I struggled to think straight. These Cullens acted as though they'd been watching me on hidden camera throughout the entire ordeal. There was _something_ about them and I couldn't decide what it was. My instinct made me think they were vampires like Edward, but I had nothing else to support the theory. They were incredibly intuitive and confident to a fault, though possessed a tranquility I could hardly associate with Edward. Brushing off the vague and non-conclusive notions, I leaped, weary of the emotional mathematics.

"Why?"

The question had come tumbling out like a dejected appeal for mercy, but I was relieved when it did. Like releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding, it was as some involuntary reaction, taking care of necessity without the burden of conscious thought. On some level, I seemed to trust that he had answers for a lot more than just what exactly he thought he could do for me.

Sliding both hands into the pockets of his coat, he was silent for a minute, the silence stretching awkwardly as he studied me, his body static and demeanor unperturbed. Finally, as though he sensed my frustrations boiling, he moved to the chair and sat.

"Jasper, have you ... that is, since you've been in the hospital," he began carefully, as though an attorney trying to avoid leading the witness, "have you felt like you weren't alone even when you knew you were?"

What the hell was he talking about? Wrinkling my forehead, I narrowed my eyes, exasperated by the superficially sharp turns in his uninvited interrogation.

"What do you ... I don't—"

Stopping myself, it hit me that he hadn't asked because he was curious — he knew. And he was never really _asking_, it was as if he had invited me to step outside my pain. And then all of a sudden, it was clear.

_The knock on the window._

The choleric shift of grief and anger had blinded me to the connection Edward and I have always had. I'd been feeling it atop of everything else, but given the turbulence in my heart and mind, it'd gone undiagnosed.

"He was here," I said absently, leapfrogging impatiently over any further unnecessary hurtles of this conversation.

I mourned the loss of not realizing sooner, as if calling him out would have encouraged him to show himself. Now that I was aware, I wanted to fast-forward. _What can this guy do about it?_

His eyes, always intent on mine, brightened as his mouth tipped with a subtle grin. I noticed suddenly their hue: a deep gold, warm and friendly ... just like his wife's.

_Such an odd, if not impossible color, _I thought. A heavy stone dropped into the pit of my stomach, sending me spinning. For a moment, I was anchorless again, trying to grasp what had eviscerated my equilibrium. Why did that trip a wire?

"Yes," he confirmed aloud, continuing with amusement. "He can't stay away from you."

I scoffed bitterly, grinding my teeth a little. "Well, that's ironic," I spat, incensed once again. There were too many reasons why his assessment hurt. Dizziness rocked me as my skin flashed hot with trauma. "He's as good as gone, no matter what his reasons for ..."

Trailing off, I marveled at this stranger's ability to disarm me. My best friends in the world hadn't been able to get the simplest of details, yet here I was, unfolding like a newspaper.

"How do you know?" I asked, changing directions but leaving the inquiry broad. I was desperate to understand so many things, ask so many questions. I was afraid he wouldn't answer yet I still wasn't convinced I could trust this man. I desperately tried not to hope, but I breathed it in waiting for his answer. My lungs burned.

He smiled plainly. "Would you believe me?" he countered his own challenge.

"Yes," I answered without fail. It was an instinctual, gut reaction. I knew I could accept what he would tell me as fact, even if I was just desperate to feel solid ground again.

"Edward is my kind. I created him. That is, I changed him."

I didn't think he was looking for surprise, but he found it. The idea that my instincts and leanings toward Carlisle and Esme were correct — that they _were_ vampires as well — hit me a little harder than I would have expected. It propelled me into a deeper chasm of confusion, brimming with dark questions and anxieties. My skin went cold as my heart tripped over itself.

For a moment, I was consumed with hatred, thinking _this_ was the man who took Edward away from me. _He_ killed him, making Edward hate himself even more, making him the "monster" he claimed to be. Still, the rest of me puzzled, seeing and sensing the humanity Carlisle possessed. I struggled to find a cause for any such malevolence on his part, why he would condemn Edward to a fate he didn't want.

"Why?" I seethed, my words painfully filtering through my teeth. Every muscle in my body was contracted, vibrating with the debate. _Does he have any idea what he's done to my Edward?_

As if hearing everything I _wasn't_ saying, he remained silent as his eyes swept over me. I had no indication he could hear thoughts as Edward could, but he was definitely reading my body language. Yet, I still was not put off by him at all. Only what he'd taken from me.

Perhaps watching the torment churning in my eyes, or the sound my erratic heartbeat had then prompted Carlisle to begin telling the story of Edward's death. He sighed, a mix between remorse and self-justification.

"I was working an ER rotation in Ambrose General at the time. Edward was brought in after he walked into traffic," he explained, pausing briefly as I winced, pinching my eyes shut momentarily.

Edward had told me of his suicide attempt, but that didn't make hearing of it again any less heartbreaking. Realizing I could get more of the story that Edward could hardly bear to tell me, let alone remember, I lost grip on my rage. I slid rapidly down the hill, submerging into the grief where Edward was merely gone. Unfurling my fists, my hands fell limply by my sides as anguish seeped in to weigh down my muscles. My head fell back to the pillow behind me, my eyes pinching shut while I forced in a deep breath. Bracing myself, I nodded, urging him to continue.

Carlisle pressed a quick smile in acknowledgement. "Though we were able to stabilize him, his injuries were quite grave and the likelihood of him making it through the night was slim. I was checking on him when he regained consciousness, and to my surprise, he hadn't panicked or become hysterical due to any physical pain or shock, though his expression allowed that he suffered both. He only asked, 'Am I dead yet?'"

I had tried to remain calm, reining in my emotional reactions to the story, but with this negligibly simple beginning, I was undone. Tears spilled over my cheeks. Edward's pain, even though ten years past, was fresh and cutting. Not only did I hate to hear it, but I found myself relating to it more than ever. That was a more than a little terrifying.

"I can stop," Carlisle offered quietly, sensing my difficulties as though I was venting sorrow like smokestacks.

"Don't," I whimpered, tempering the output of grief as I painfully swallowed it back. "I want to hear it. All of it."

Silence was his agreement. "I told him he was alive, but that he was not out of the woods. I said, 'You must want to live.'"

With that, I cried out, the sob unwilling to be contained. Without listening for another syllable, I didn't have to imagine Edward's will to live was already absent. My chest wanted to cave in, imagining his reply. _And if I don't ...?_

"Jasper," Carlisle said, settling a hand on my arm. His voice was like that of a father's, warm and comforting. I had to fight harder to compose myself, his cool touch only reminding me of Edward's. "Are you _certain_ you're all right to continue?"

I nodded harshly, unwilling to tearfully hiccup an answer aloud. When he spoke again, my guess was just about right. I laughed humorlessly, nodding resentfully; it felt dreadful at this moment to know Edward so well.

"I didn't bother to ask him his intent, as it was plain. In any case, he'd essentially confirmed it. I didn't mention that I was a psychologist, but offered to talk with him, to listen. I desperately wanted to help, but anything I suggested, he ignored or responded with a small shake of his head. He said nothing but repeatedly asked me to save him from this life. I knew what he was really asking, but ...

"It was the 'save me' that triggered something in me," he said, his voice contemplative. "My wife had said the same thing, and though it was not what she'd meant either, I took her. That is, I changed her. I believe I was meant to."

He paused, looking like he would blush if he could. "Ours is a different story, of course, but the similarity propelled me to act."

"You," I paused, swallowing thickly as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. "You changed him. You bit him, you drank the life out of him."

The words sounded scripted to me. Despite my acceptance of Edward, outside of that house the world was the same mass of people who were happy and safe in their ignorance. Integrating vampires into my concept of reality outside of the bubble of Edward? Still unsettling.

Carlisle stared at me blankly, almost shocked by my resentful encapsulation of his story. I was sure he hadn't expected me to like it, but he remained silent in his surprise.

"Well, _didn't you?_" I snapped, my voice level rising. Sliding off the mattress, the cold tile was a relief to the soles of my feet. I stood across from him, fuming, my fists so tight, my fingers might have broken.

Calmly, he stood, walking past me to the window again, where the light was brighter now. Still grey, but brighter. "I suppose I should have taken your probable contention into account when I came to see you, but ..."

"But what? You thought I'd get over it? That I'd—"

"By the time I knew anything about _you_," he interrupted, revealing his impossibly unflappable patience could thin, if only minutely, "Edward was like me, and I wasn't about to destroy him just because I thought you'd disapprove."

I stepped backward, as if slapped in the face. I leaned my hip against the bed, my hand gripping the sheets to ground me.

"I wanted to save a _person_, not create a ... a _monster_, as Edward might insist. I refuse to see us all as mindless predators when I know there's such limitless capabilities for good in us." His voice had smoothed, settling back to the gentle tolerance I'd become accustomed to, as if no disturbance had occurred.

Frustrated as ever, I heaved in a breath, groaning on exhale. "Fine, so you _saved_ him. Whatever," I snarled dismissively. "So how exactly are you going to help _me_? Are you going to _save me_, too?"

I let the implication hang between us like an open noose.

"Jasper," he said, amusement shadowing the word. "That would be your choice. I would if you asked, but it was certainly not my intent."

He came to stand in front of me, and for the first time I noticed he was barely my height. A bit shorter, in fact. Despite this smaller stature, he could undoubtedly tear me limb from limb. Yet, I had no doubt of my own safety.

Gripping my arms so lightly, he softly plead his case. "You must understand how palpable your misery is. Yours _and_ Edward's. It is no life for either of you. I want to change that, end it. I didn't realize how lacking my existence was until I found my wife. I felt, to use a saccharine expression, _complete._"

I snorted involuntarily, but internally, I knew exactly what he meant. It was what I experienced making love with Edward. For a moment, perhaps the first time in my life, I had been unreservedly ... _happy_.

"Whether you are human or not, Jasper, without you Edward will never be," he paused, a subtle smile tugging his lips, "_complete_."

Doubt buoyed in my stomach. Concrete in my bitterness, I refused to allow that Edward needed me in any way. He'd abandoned our second chance, whatever _that_ meant, given these far-fetched, preternatural circumstances.

Carlisle seemed to get lost in thought, his smile growing as he likely considered my hesitancy. Crossing his arms over his chest he looked up at me smugly and asked, "Why else would he be here?"

My brow crumpled, puzzled. Just then, the door opened almost violently and Edward's form blurred across the room until he stood between Carlisle and myself, seething.

"To keep him safe from a devil like you ... _or_ me."


	16. Pressure

"_To keep him safe from a devil like you ... _or_ me."_

"Edward," Carlisle greeted him as if oblivious or even _entertained_ by his apoplectic display of resentment. "Nice of you to finally join us."

I almost wanted to laugh, but I couldn't move. Edward's scent idly teasing me, his alarm and apparent need for my safety vibrating like heat from his cold skin — it all rendered me helpless and confused. My eyes traced the hairline on his neck, where one side dipped a little lower than the other, the crooked peak in the center pointing down. I was mesmerized by his every detail as if it had been ages rather a couple of days since I'd seen him last. In my hysterical and exhausted, delirious series of emotional and physical states, it almost _had_ been. After a spotty collection of hours into days, I had barely survived withdrawal of my one necessary drug. The one whom I had never forgotten over his absent decade, from whose loss I'd never healed, was here in front of me again.

His close proximity shattered my breaths, casting them back across my face like a confirmation of reality, like the doctors would believe I _wasn't crazy_ anymore. Not that I ever really cared about the diagnosis — how do you diagnose heartbreak? What pill fixes that anyway? The whirl of air returned bringing the essence of Edward back with it, so I breathed deeply, feeling the whole of me sigh with relief. My bones wept with the release of tension, though the beat of my heart was erratic with questions.

As if his presence solved anything, my body reacted like it healed _everything_.

Distracted by Edward, I remained oblivious to time blurring past me until an unfamiliar sound finally registered. The faintest hiss of lips repressing an argumentative dialogue began to trail around the room, hovering above us like a cloud of buzzing insects. I briefly looked around as if the walls would tell me what I was missing, but the room and everyone else in it had frozen in time. Like a hundred conversations doubled over upon each other, the words were unintelligible. Mystified, I refocused on Edward's form to sense the argument I couldn't see or hear, but could certainly feel. The hushed sound carried with it a stinging chill, like that of an arctic breeze.

"Enough, Edward," Carlisle chided suddenly, grabbing both my and Edward's attention. "Don't be rude. Jasper can't understand us at such a speed."

Edward's posture stretched taller, my eyes catching again at the flawless slope of his neck. My fingers jerked, desperate to touch him. _My lips, my tongue used to linger there ..._.

"That's fine," he spat, coughing as though caught off guard. "I'd be all too happy to explain how you enjoy creating a horror story like this. How you've been watching him for years, waiting for your opportunity to bait me."

Carlisle seemed unruffled by such vitriol. I could sense nothing outside of his shockingly relaxed demeanor contrasted by Edward's. My stone lion stood guard in front of me, his shoulders rigid, every muscle poised to fight. Despite my curiosity and suspicion piqued by his accusations, the mere presence of Edward broke through the ache, through the betrayal — even this new allegation, and coerced my body into doing what I could no longer prevent. With a will of their own, my arms slipped around his ribs and held him, the flushed heat of my face cooling as I rested my cheek against his exposed neck.

The grief that had locked my muscles tight for days unraveled at contact, adrenaline and emotion unleashed to flood my every circuit in a physiological yet intangible electrocution. It was a bizarre, uncontrollable surrender that felt like it _should_ kill me. The low sound that staggered unevenly from my throat could just as easily have been construed as pain as it could have been pleasure. At that moment, I wasn't quite sure if it were neither or both.

The naive, hopeful boy I was, gullible in the belief that love triumphs, wrestled the man I'd been left to become, bitter and drowning in doubts. Still, Edward's reaction buoyed my singular spirit with an unexpected if impossible triumph.

The moment my fingers pressed against his chest and stomach, his entire body relaxed, slumping backward against me. I could not accept it as defeat, but I hoped — no, _dared_ to hope it was concession. A drawn out sigh wove a beautifully heartbreaking melody as it escaped his lips, and I imagined them, parted and perfect and the exemplification of kiss. The thought of them prompted my lips to purse and press to the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

"No," he whispered, the dagger of a word sinking through the galloping muscle beneath my ribs. He seemed to drag courage in with a breath, straightening his spine, reinforcing his armor. He would not allow himself any weaknesses, and quickly recouped his obstinacy. Even more quietly he amended, "Please don't forgive me."

His soft tenor was so reminiscent of the sweet and somewhat reserved sixteen-year-old boy who asked me to "please kiss him again," I nearly forgot where and_ when_ I was. The request sunk in quickly enough, though, jolting me from my stupor.

"You don't get to make that call," I said, my voice sounding vaguely amused and foreign to my ears. Where it came from I couldn't say, but if felt empowering. The potholed sleep I'd been getting fogged my ability to analyze. "You—"

"Almost killed you," he finished for me, hell-bent on damnation, the snap in his tone admonishing. "You cannot absolve me of that."

Despite my frustration at his insistence in vilifying his actions, I could not stop the laughter that bubbled up and broke over my lips. The slight bark shocked him into turning around to examine my expression, breaking my embrace. The fresh look of terrified bewilderment gracing his face told me he might have thought me broken, cracked.

Carlisle appeared at his side, biting back his amusement. "Like he said, Edward: You don't get to make that decision. While you may never forgive yourself, though I recommend giving it a try, _he_ can — and has. Whether _you_ like it or not."

I smiled involuntarily at the man who took my Edward's humanity, agreeing and suddenly quite grateful for his presence and witness. I couldn't really access why it was so easy to accept Carlisle, because there was equal reason to hate and praise him. Maybe it was his overwhelming sense of peace, maybe it was relief at having someone on my side in this argument. Or perhaps I was just too damn tired to be angry at anyone.

Edward, however, pruned his face in objection while exuding annoyance.

"I almost made you ... like _me_." His mouth moved like he'd literally tasted shit.

Another laugh, louder this time, erupted. "Edward. Christ, man, I ... I don't know how you're standing," I declared with a bouncing sigh, though I doubted the veil of flippancy hid my wariness and fatigue. "Every responsibility in the world rests on your shoulders. As perfect as you look, I know you're not. I've never expected you to be."

He stared, unblinking, for several long beats, my heart skipping and thudding with each prolonged second. I couldn't even tell how he might respond, but I was anxious to hear his voice again.

"Why?" he asked finally. The look on his face was somewhere between relieved and appalled. "How can you—?"

"It doesn't matter, baby," I said, settling slowly into the feeling of my feet on the cool linoleum. The endearment fell off my lips smoothly and it bolstered me, stripping me of any bitter contempt. I didn't want to ridicule him into acceptance, and I didn't want to argue anymore.

Warmth shot through my veins like heroin, solidifying my stance. I felt certain for the first time in years, and it was exhilarating — and terrifying. It was all or nothing. "I love you, Edward. I won't apologize for it or retract it. _This_," I motioned between us before fixing my hand over my heart, "is forever. No matter what or where we are, _this_ is limitless."

Lead sifted through the warmth, dragging the optimism to my feet. I was anchored, preparing to weather the fallout based off the incredibly sad expression he wore.

"I love you, Jasper," he confessed as if ashamed. "Always."

Slightly derailed, I sighed, my shoulders slumping as I fell backward a step. While his declaration was fire, his shame was a hurricane. "Is it really such a burden? Loving me?"

A spark. A bright, fiery spark in his eyes, blasting through clouds. "Burden?" he hissed, moving toward me. "The burden is—"

"Gentlemen," Carlisle interrupted, clearing his throat theatrically as he shifted quickly, standing so close, I felt like he was trying to stand between us as if breaking up a fistfight. "Point of order? This discussion could circle itself infinitely. I think, Edward, we need to address the crux of the situation?"

Sensing Edward's regression into "O, Monster is Me," I jumped in.

"I don't know, " I began, pausing to glare at Edward, _though I do know what you would say_, "that I would want to become a ... vampire."

The statement sounded ridiculous and laughable to my ears, even though it was solid and true to my heart. Edward looked relieved, yet ... did I feel a ripple of upset well-hidden beneath his stony façade? Unnaturally cheered by his potential disappointment, I wasn't curious in the least as to how he would feel about this addendum:

"Nor do I know that I _don't_."

And back to horrified. I watched the red of his irises morph and constrict around the black as he fought to mask any encouragement, unintentional though I was sure it would have been. My skin ached as if stretched too thin over my bones, my nerve endings exposed. I stood on the edge of elation and collapse.

"What I _do_ know," I continued, feeling my lungs constrict with fear, "is that if you intend to deny me or leave me _again_, I will be irreparably lost."

My chest expanded audibly with quick intake of breath, and a whoosh when I released it. It was as though I had made my final confession. The air around me thickened, growing heavy. Edward's apparent anxiety over the assertion assured me he was picking apart what I'd said, word by word, looking for a loophole.

"Lost?" he questioned finally, a shimmering thread of hope materializing to wrap around my heart.

With the most simple yet frank imagery, I mentally assaulted him with what I knew to be true: every possibility in which I would shatter. Whether that resulted in my physical death or not, it really didn't matter. Losing Edward a final time would kill me in one or all ways.

Lurching sideways with the staggering weight of something akin to hope steeped in dread, he clumsily moved back until he hit the wall. He immediately crumbled to the floor, hugging his knees.

"It's impossible, I ... I don't know how to ... _keep_ you," he admitted, sheepish and scared.

_You are yourself all over again._

His eyes beseeched me, terrified to truly believe in a new chance. I moved to him, falling to my knees and drowning in my own hope and fears and pain — as well as his. Taking his face in my hands, I opened my mouth to beg him in return, to tell him I was as scared as he was, but the words wouldn't come. I didn't have the slightest clue how to alleviate his fears.

Tracing his face with my eyes, I imagined the decade between us settling in to his features. Though he remained the perfect, beautiful young man from our youth, his distress in this moment seems to fix him with a mask of age.

"W-would you really ...?" he began to ask, a precipitous mourning stemming the question.

Even if I couldn't feel the anguish he radiated, he didn't have to continue. I knew he was referring to harming myself, or possibly just the litany of catastrophic possibilities my mind conjured for him visually just moments before. He shook almost violently as the imagery recycled itself and I realized with a shudder what I was doing. I was backing him into a corner, forcing him to make a choice based off a threatening ultimatum, that I would literally _die_ if he left me again. I stood fast, unsteady on my feet as the horror of my own selfishness struck me, knocking me off my high horse. I stumbled backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed, my hands gripping at the sheets like lifelines.

This realization, this unscrupulous battle to get what I wanted suddenly and blindingly revealed my own crime. Would I survive without him? Yes. Would I be able to love again? Never. It was true that I would be a shell, I knew that. But it was _monstrous_ of me to use that against him. My bitterness had turned to badgering. In some ways, it could be deemed abusive, even. And that just made me sick to my stomach. Despite his physical inability to be harmed, Edward's heart was as fragile as mine. Perhaps even more so.

Turning and crawling onto the bed as if it were a life raft, I buried my face in the shockingly soft, if over-bleached pillowcase. Anger bubbled, warming my skin and roiling in my gut as I tried to sort myself.

_I'm so sorry, Edward. I'm so sorry._

The words on repeat in my head stemmed the ache, the horrifying reflection of my ego. I would keep apologizing until I figured out how to make the nausea recede, to undo my actions. How could I take back the thoughts in my head? The desperation in my heart? I knew exactly what prompted me to act this way and I wouldn't take _that_ back. Love. I was helpless with or without it.

With the sudden feel of hands on my back, I was afraid to sit up and turn. My entire body felt like a fever, so I couldn't tell if the cool palms were Edward's or not.

"Jasper?"

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**So sorry to keep ya waiting, y'all. **RL is ... yeah, yeah, you already know ;). Anyway, the good news is the story is complete! The next two chapters are in beta, so I hope to post them within the next week or so. and FYI, If you haven't read already, I wrote a O/S slash fic for nae (bday/swap commission) called Erotic Literature (check my profile for it).**  
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**Big thanks to naelany and MaleficentKnits for betafying & "homework." And HUGE thanks to all of you still following this story. Means a lot! **


	17. Clearing

"_Jasper?"_

Startled nearly out of my skin, I was frozen when her voice broke the bubble. My worlds were colliding and the atmospheric pressure had put my head between its wicked fingers.

"Turn around, honey," Alice said quietly. "It's okay."

The iciest fear sank into the deepest fiber of every muscle, every bone in my body.

_No. No, no no no nonononono. Please, it's not a dream. I'm not crazy, please tell me I'm not crazy._

"Jazzy," she pleaded softly.

_Edward, please don't leave. It's not a dream — it's so real. Don't let her take you away from me, please._

My throat felt constricted, as though the pain and grief and mourning were sonically clawing its way out and I was holding it back.

"Oh, baby, please turn around," she said, the strain of tears in her voice.

Reticently, I sat back on my feet, kneeling on the bed before shifting to face her and sit. But I couldn't open my eyes.

Her delicate fingers traced around my ears, taking my face in her hands. She kissed my lips, then each cheek, whispering as she rested her forehead to mine. "It's okay, honey. Please."

Swallowing thickly, I opened my eyes slowly, afraid of what I might see. At first, all I allowed myself to focus on was her wide brown eyes, unshed tears worrying her lower lids.

"Ali," I whispered in exhale. I didn't know what else to say. I felt safe, but horrible. I stared at her for the longest time, falling into the warmth and love in her eyes, only hoping it would comfort me.

_My friend, my best friend._

She laughed lowly, the tears released and painting tracks down her cheeks. "Hi."

She kept eye contact with me, reading me like only she could. "See? Not a dream."

I blanched, my stomach flip-flopping. "Huh?"

"You kept asking Edward to tell you it wasn't a dream," she explained gently. "But it's not, honey. You're not crazy. I never believed that."

My stomach dropped and my mouth went dry as I pulled away from her to lean back. I didn't have the wherewithal to be embarrassed, only unnerved. The look of shock on my face erased her smile. "I ... I said that out loud?"

With that, the smile returned two-fold. "'Fraid so."

I stared almost helplessly into her earnest eyes, hoping that was the worst of the truth.

_Edward, please tell me you're still here. Please._

This time, I was sure that was internal. Still, there was only silence. I heard nothing around us, and Alice didn't respond. Finally, I tore my eyes away to search the room. When they landed on bare walls and empty chairs, I panicked. Frantically, I was shifting my legs to move off the bed when Carlisle reentered the room, stopping me cold.

"Alice!" Carlisle jumped in, leaning into her line of sight and perfectly acting the part of surprised acquaintance. "It's good to see you again."

She slid off the bed to shake his hand, leaving her diluted confusion trailing behind her. She walked toward him a bit warily, but held her hand out to him, which he encased in both of his. He smiled warmly, disarming her in a way I'd rarely seen anyone do.

Instantly, I was torn. Anxiety marched mercilessly under my skin like an army of drunken fire ants. I didn't know what to say, how to react, when to lie. I didn't even feel guilty at the inclination, but I didn't know if I could explain any of this to her.

"It's good to see you, Dr. Cullen," she said, a shade above robotic, highlighting her suspicion of him, despite her obvious comfort. "I, um, I spoke with your wife downstairs. We had a coffee, talked about Jasper a bit," she trailed off to turn and look at me. Her expression was almost that of mistrust. Of me? Guilt hammered my ribs.

"Yes, she insisted on coming with me," Carlisle took the initiative to fill the gap. "She always had a fondness for you and your husband, and Jasper, so she was very concerned when she heard about what had happened to him."

I wanted to call him a liar, but truth was, I didn't know that it _wasn't_ true. Carlisle's wife had always seemed to be possessed by an unflappable if not superhuman serenity. Now I knew why, and they seemed all the more a perfect pair. But at the moment, my nerves were alight with the painful awareness that I couldn't withstand polite conversation dancing along the surface.

"That was nice of her," Alice said, with only a little effort at masking her distractions.

"How _is_ little Rosalie?" he asked, expertly calling on her biggest weakness to get her attention.

Even though Alice kept shifting her gaze back to me, I searched around the room, glancing out into the hallway. Edward was nowhere to be seen, but my stomach was still rolling over itself. He couldn't be gone.

Alice chattered about Rosie proudly, yet still a little bit guarded. As she did, I stood, forcing each foot to move in front of the other. The bathroom door moved inward soundlessly, though my eyes watched the tile brighten as the light expanded inward, washing over them. Swiftly spinning to close the door, I rested my head against it, feeling the freedom to collapse without scrutiny. I exhaled heavily, relieved, but swarmed with my own questions. With one palm flat on the panels, I blindly felt for the lock and found it missing.

"No locks in a psych ward, Jas," a voice said lowly, behind me. "Except on the outside."

Staring at the fake wood pattern on the door, my heartbeat sped in startled delight, my questions mostly answered. _Hiding, Edward? Really?_

"I-I don't ... Carlisle and I heard her coming, and then I heard her thoughts," he said, stumbling and stuttering uncomfortably through his explanation as if a shameful admission. "He left to make it look like he was just coming by on morning rounds, and I just ... She's so worried about you and I ... I don't know. I shouldn't be here."

He almost sounded afraid, which confused me. Maybe it was simply his twisted guilt masquerading as fear. Really? It didn't matter — I didn't accept his logic. Peering over my shoulder, I looked directly into Edward's tumultuous red eyes. He leaned against the painted block walls — I would say "idly" but I knew otherwise. Even now, I was distracted. The horrible fluorescent lighting didn't detract from his beauty in the least, though it seemed to spotlight his discomfort. Finally my body followed, allowing me to turn and face him fully.

_Have you been in here this whole time?_

He had the decency to appear somewhat ashamed as he nodded slightly. I wanted to fling myself across the short distance, and wrap myself around him, but I couldn't forget my own transgression and needed to apologize for it out loud.

"Edward, I am so sorry," I said, solemnly. "If you won't give us a chance because you think ..."

I sighed, unable or perhaps unwilling to acknowledge his reasons, but also rerouting my approach. "I don't want to guilt you into choosing to stay with me. It wasn't fair to use threats like ... what may or may not happen to me if you don't," I admitted, resigned to accept whatever he decision gave, despite my intent to fight for us.

"You think I blame you for that?" he asked, shocked. "Nothing you say could touch the guilt I already own."

My skin and muscles ached as if pulling from my bones, desperate to touch him, but I wouldn't move. I couldn't torture myself with a touch that didn't want me.

"You have to let that go, baby," I pleaded with a hint of a whine.

"I saw — I _felt_ how badly I hurt you. Nothing can undo that."

The heels of my hands pressed over my eyes as I groaned. "What killed me, Edward," I said, trying not to sound as irritated as I felt, "was not knowing. Was I hurt that you felt you couldn't come to me for support after what happened with your father? Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't understand."

Despite my attempts at reassurances, he seemed confused, sporting a slight frown.

"It's not up to you to undo what I went through," I exhaled the words in frustration. "We can't change any of it. Just like I can't undo what happened to you. That hurts more than anything you think you did to me."

Seconds ticked by, slow and torturous. His gears were turning as he considered me, warring with himself behind his eyes. I remained still, waiting, even though I felt my heart stumble into an uneven rhythm.

"I don't know how to do this, Jasper," he said finally, echoing his earlier sentiment. "Given everything, all these fucked up circumstances, we're ... an impossibility. Aren't we?"

He was waffling, there was nothing to back his words. Desperate to hold on to the misery he'd fed on for years — the taste of bitterness having ironically helped maintain his comfort zone, he held himself back from leaping.

I rolled my eyes and stepped closer. My bare toes touched the tips of his shoes. "Then why are you even here?"

His posture stiffened in reaction to the indictment. "But—"

"You can't let go," I continued, his spine stretching at my words.

He lifted away from the wall, standing tall, bringing us nearly nose to nose. His eyebrow arched, asking.

"_Hope_," I said simply, knowing exactly what it felt like. "You can't stop yourself from hoping. It's the worst kind of torture, isn't it?"

His mouth parted, his eyes flickered and words began to dance on his tongue, planting a hardy seed of hope in _me_. It was like doors opening, a cleansing breath, the crescendo of a passionate opus, climbing rapidly to the ultimate peak — he understood. I could practically _see_ the belief forming, buoying him from the depths of self-imposed perdition.

At that very moment, the door clicked and Alice's head appeared from behind the door.

"Jasper, who are you talki—?" The rest of the question dangled silently from her lips, detaching and floating over the air to paint us in incriminating light.

I spun and stood in front of Edward, shielding him, protecting _him_. I immediately felt slightly ridiculous, but also a little "caught in the act," so it was somewhat instinctual. Having been thwarted seconds before the most important breakthrough I could never even dream of, I was sure Edward's delicate compromise would wither and perish.

Boiling with resentment, I couldn't speak, grinding my teeth in contention with myself. I loved Alice more than I would a flesh and blood sister, yet at that moment, I wanted to kill her for having the worst timing in the history of human existence. _That may be exaggerating slightly._

But then, I was staggered and calmed when Edward's arms wrapped around me from behind. A sharp intake of breath found my ears, but it took full, slow-counting seconds before I realized it was me. The world around me had slowed, the sensation of his embrace, his body pressed against my back — I was calmed and exhilarated simultaneously. I was balanced.

Resurfacing to focus again on the world outside what was happening in my mind and body, I centered my scrutiny on Alice. Her eyes locked on me, she was practically unreadable.

While my mind raced for a time when I couldn't immediately sense what she might be feeling, neither could I recall her stonewalling anyone — let alone me. Alice was always happily an open book. Now, however, I came up empty and in turn, my heart nearly stopped with fear — as though she would ever do anything to hurt me.

As the moments stretched, Edward began to fidget minutely. Too caught between her gaze and his arms, I was loathe to try to discern why. When his hand meandered up from my stomach and settled protectively over my heart, I placed my hand over his on instinct, tightening my grip around his fingers as if they were my life preserver.

She continued to examine us silently until her thoughts sorted themselves, resolution and understanding settling on her features. I realized Edward had been listening to her thoughts since she'd appeared, perhaps before, though I'd like to think he was too engaged in our conversation. I was instantly jealous — as if the two had a secret. The arm tucked around my waist squeezed my side, as if in response to my juvenile burst of resentment. I blinked hard to clear my head, at least a little.

Possibly several minutes later, she resumed speaking, but her tone was completely different. There was a shift there that I don't remember having heard before, almost as if it wasn't _her_ at all.

"This is goodbye," she said. A statement, but also a question. A question she knew the answer to but pretended not to know.

"Jasper..." Edward's voice tickled my eardrum, though barely audible above the drumming noise darkly echoing its way through my veins. Though Edward seemed to permeate my skin, I felt only confusion peppered with fear that began to mingle with my own. His fingers contracted, coiling around my hand. A subtle rumbling against my shoulder blades tipped me off. The sensation tripped through me, a cold ripple of panic indicating that whatever thoughts were behind her wide grey eyes scared him.

Her gaze shifted to Edward and he stiffened, caught in the web of her thoughts. I felt him tremble, on that thin precipice of terror and feverish excitement where you can't possibly discern toward which side of the wispy edge you swayed.

I turned, stepping out of his arms so that I see them both at the same time. I kept his hand in mine, unwilling to lose the connection. I felt bolstered, but I wasn't sure about him. Catching his eyes, I held them with my own.

_You're the only person in the universe I _need_, _I told him. His gaze turned into a glare and I almost laughed. _And I think you need me just the same._

To my surprise, Edward wove our fingers together, tightening his grip, but said nothing. Carlisle then pushed the door open, motioning for us all to exit the tiny restroom. I realized I'd forgotten he was even here.

Stepping into the main room, I winced, squinting from the brightness. The morning blazed through the windows like a flood of fire, burning the white light onto everything it touched. Edward tugged me with him as he stepped into the beams of sunlight. A subtle shimmering blanketed his exposed skin, like a haze of diamond dust had been disturbed.

It was amazing. Miraculous and painfully beautiful. I couldn't understand why he was showing me now, but I couldn't look away. On my other side, Alice's small hand tucked itself into mine. Turning swiftly to face her, I held the hands of the two most important people in my life.

"I can't explain, Alice," I lamented, my voice cracking as my grip on Edward's hand tightened.

She smiled sadly, her lower lids beginning to swim. "I know."

I smiled, too, my emotions overflowing and staining my cheeks. "It's not goodbye," I lied, wishing it true. But it was goodbye. We both knew it.

"Oh, Jasper," she sighed, her face twisting with a grief I understood so well. "I love you so much. Always, you know that."

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**One more chap, peeps. Hopefully up within the next week or so. The usual thanks to Nae & Mal. xoxoxo**


	18. Rise

**This is it, folks. See you at the end. :)**

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"_Oh, Jasper," she sighed, her face twisting with a grief I understood so well. "I love you so much. Always, you know that."_

Ripping apart at the seams. That's what it felt like.

Alice let go of my hand to wrap her arms around me. The surreality of the moment was like an exaggerated gravity, crushing and paralyzing. I couldn't let go of Edward, but my free arm wrapped around her.

"Ali," I croaked, confused and struggling to sort myself. "I ... this _isn't_ goodbye! I mean ... where do you—"

She pulled back and looked between Edward and me, frowning. "In the entire time I've known you, you've never been so ... _alive_."

My hand throbbed from within Edward's grip. The irony of her word choice was not lost on either of us.

"No one you've ever been with has even remotely affected you like this — good _or_ bad — and ... I can just _see_ that this is it for you." Her tears spilled over, trailing down her cheeks and disappearing under her chin. "It's like someone turned on a light."

Her voice cracked on the final word, my heart twisting a bit at her evident bittersweet emotion. Like me, I suppose, she seemed heartbroken and happy simultaneously.

My mouth hung open, the expectation of understanding leaving me silently confused. How did she know she'd never see me again? _I _didn't know.

Or maybe I did. Maybe I'd made my decision. I'd chosen Edward, and maybe that meant I'd chosen to be changed.

She turned from me and looked at Edward pointedly. "You," she paused to aim a finger at him like a stern schoolmarm, her tone dropping to match, "be good to him, you understand me?"

Edward simply nodded, not even feigning amusement at her parental tone. Squeezing my hand once more, he gently let it go. I knew it was so that I could hug her goodbye. I felt a whirlpool of emotion grip me, as though Edward had been my anchor or the dam keeping it at bay. Circling the drain, I pulled Alice into my arms and hugged her tight.

Throwing her arms around me one last time, she whispered, "Thank you. Thank you for being the best friend in the history of best friends. For _everything_."

I knew what she was referring to. Or rather, who. My heart wanted to seize thinking of how I was actually walking away from our strange little family.

"I hope you understand how much you mean to me," I said, my voice an embarrassingly high pitch. "All of you, but especially you, honey. You and Em and Rosie are forever my family, and I love you."

I wanted to apologize, to tell her how sorry I was to leave them all behind like this, but the words remained frozen in the back of my throat, silently sliding back into my chest to hang heavily on my heart. I managed to plead hoarsely, "Please tell them how much I love them, Ali."

I felt her nod, her chest shaking with restrained sobs and unable to speak. The physical pain was incredible. I'd never felt anything like it — not voluntarily. I looked to Edward through bloodshot, watery eyes, remembering the only other time in my life I felt such agonizing grief. He dropped his head, penitent but on the other side hopeful. _Thankful_, even, because he was getting another chance.

And so was I — but at great cost.

In the blink of an eye, Alice let go and hurried out the door in tears, her eyes trained on the floor. My eyes couldn't follow her, watch her go, or move from the spot on the linoleum where she last stood. My body was rigid, every muscle tensed against the torrid thrash of sadness and doubt.

The doubt was borne of the natural tendency to please, for everyone to like you — I hurt her, and I hurt for her _and_ for me.

Edward's shoes appeared in my view. I closed my eyes as I felt his arms wrap around me, my head resting on his shoulder as I moved to hold him, too.

My muscles unlocked, my tension releasing with his touch. I held him tighter.

"You can change your mind, Jas," he reminded me quietly, but for the first time it didn't sound or _feel_ like he wanted to talk me out of anything. It was simply put. "I would understand."

"I know," I said, pulling back to look in his eyes. "But I _can't_. I'd be even more devastated saying goodbye to my soulmate. Again."

He nodded curtly, my point understood, but not saying anything further. It made me a little happier that he chose not to apologize or beat himself up — at least out loud.

"I made a choice for my heart," I explained, settling my palm on his chest exactly where his used to beat. Taking his hand from my waist, I placed it over my heart. "I made a choice for yours, too."

He tipped a subtle, lopsided smirk. "You just love to say corny shit like that."

My responding grin was a bit tempered, but I couldn't help but to feel warmed by his shift toward acceptance and being relaxed.

Again, Carlisle surprised me, reminding me of his presence. "Jasper, I'm going to go and get you officially checked out of here. Then, if you're _both_ amenable, I'd love to speak with you about your next steps. We can go to my office, or my home ... wherever you'd be most comfortable."

I looked to Edward and asked silently for him to decide. He kept his eyes on mine as he replied.

"Your house, Carlisle," he said, surprisingly calm. "Please."

He tried to hide it, but it was obvious that Edward's response was unexpected. "I'll let Esme know we're coming. Back in ten," he said quietly, a smile in his voice, as he slipped out of the room.

Suddenly alone, I had to ask, "Why did you stand in the sun while Alice was still here?"

It seemed a little non-sequitur in retrospect. I trusted Alice implicitly, but considering from all I'd gleaned, it wasn't like I would or _should_ advertise what he and the Cullens were. For everyone's sake.

"Her train of thought is fascinating," he answered, obviously taking a roundabout approach to the question. "Has she always been so intuitive? Incredibly insightful. She knew there was something off, but she needed a sort of confirmation that ... she could trust her gut feeling."

"Which was?" I asked, almost irritated that I needed to.

"That she was here to let you go."

My stomach flipped and sank just hearing out loud what I already knew. "You read that from her?"

He nodded sensing a building wave of mournfulness in me. It was to be expected, given a life upended, whether chosen or not. I wouldn't allow myself to regret, because when all was said and done, I knew it was the right decision, no matter how thin the margin between options might have been. It was honestly the most painful choice I would ever make, and I would carry the sorrow with me forever.

His embrace steadied me as I breathed deeply through the onslaught of memories and internal questions. I could feel him tense and relax with every transitional thought. It seemed an idiot would know how difficult it was for him to let everything he was seeing pass without a bout of guilt, so the amount of restraint I sensed in him amazed me.

"I suppose," he began slowly as I moved to dress in the clothes that I believed the Cullens had brought at some point during my time at the hospital, "it wouldn't _exactly_ have to be _goodbye_."

The word sounded awkward on his tongue, and I wasn't sure why. Intrigued but wary, I sat down to pull on my boots and looked up to watch his eyes. They were trained on the floor tiles.

"You could write or call ..." His voice trailed off quickly once he saw the incredulous look of _"Are you fucking kidding me?"_ on my face. Snorting in reaction, he continued with a sheepish smile, "Yeah, I suppose that would be stupid."

_And maybe cruel._

As much as I would love to keep contact with them, I think it would be too much for all of us. Dancing around realities and what they would really want to know, it would be torture and pointless. I shook the ridiculous hypotheticals out of my head, standing up.

"I'm ready," I declared, the multiple meanings of the phrase completely intentional. He grinned madly, cycling rapidly through amused, resigned, juvenile, and happy. I focused on the happy. "Let's go."

"Jasper," he said, so softly I felt it more than heard it. "Thank you."

He didn't need to elaborate, because I could read it all in his eyes, feel it radiating from him. I just _knew_. It wasn't for choosing him over my now-former life, not really. It was a new kind of hope I could see in him. I smiled, showing him I understood, but I could tell he already knew it.

Stepping closer, he settled his palms evenly on both sides of my face. "Forever, huh?"

My lips curled in agreement as he pressed his to mine.

* * *

**So, yeah. Much love and thanks to nae, who really helped shape this baby up. To Mal, whose support was epically important. And of course, to all of you who read and didn't complain (much ;)) when the gap between chapters stretched on over a couple of months. Thank you all. xoxo**

**p.s. oh, and btw, there'll probably be an epilogue at some point. :P**


	19. Epilogue

**Would you believe it? Finally, an epilogue. And from Edward's point of view! I'll save the blah-de-blah for the end, so ... enjoy. :)**

* * *

He's hurting, and I hate it. He tries to hide it, but I can feel his heartache as if it were my own ... because it is. His pain is mine.

That might sound sappy, but I mean it quite literally. When Jasper changed, we found he had an extraordinary ability much like mine. Within days of arriving at Carlisle and Esme's Pacific home on the cliffs, my venom ate away his warmth, his life, and nearly all of my sanity. As we waited, I could physically feel progressively more and more the pain of his change. I didn't need to hear him scream to know; he seemed to throw off his agony like heat from a furnace. We all burned with him, until even Carlisle and Esme couldn't take any more. I couldn't leave him alone — I wouldn't. Not after the choice he made. Then, as if to complement my telepathy, my beloved then awoke not only a vampire, but also an empath. Any emotion I have (or anyone or anything near us, for that matter), he can be sense and absorb, but also share or influence at his will.

So, today I sit idly, perched on the edge of a small, open-air stadium, a few yards from him. I stare off into the west and try to pretend the regret he's projecting doesn't prickle at my soul. Jasper's eyesight now keenly powerful, he focuses on a singular set of people within the crowd below. I listen and watch through his mind, all the while experiencing his reactions and range of emotions as they occur.

_Alice cries while she laughs and smiles proudly, clutching Emmett's arm like she'll float away if she doesn't hold on to something. He continually hands her tissues without looking at her, an unused pile of them growing in her lap while she uses her sleeve to dab at her eyes. He absentmindedly gives her the one he's using, crying unabashedly in his own right. _

_Jasper's eyes shift as Rosalie steps on the stage, grown and incredibly beautiful. Donning a bright purple polyester graduation gown that swishes awkwardly around her legs, she walks across to the podium and shakes the principal's hand. Passing him, she turns to the crowd and thrusts the hand holding the diploma in the air, waving to her parents who jump to their feet and holler like _they're_ the ones finishing in high school._

Blinking away the visions, I shift focus to a singular image of that gorgeous young woman: her smile, her nose and chin reflect Alice. But the dark blonde ringlets, sky-wide blue eyes ... they are completely her father. Her _biological_ father, of course. I wonder if she'll ever know? Will she wonder what became of him? Will she hate or resent him for disappearing from her life?

"Edward," he says disapprovingly, having turned to raise an eyebrow at me.

He doesn't often speak aloud much anymore unless he's so frustrated he can't untie his mental knots, or that doing so specifically makes a point. I admit, there are times I might goad him simply to hear his voice. I smile, turning to catch his eyes, now golden-hued instead of blue. "What?" I ask innocently.

"You _know_ what."

"How did you _know_?" He can't read _my_ mind, so it still surprises me when he figures these things out (even if he _is_ an empath).

Turning back to watch the ceremony momentarily, he sighs, but holds a hand out to me. I take it, rising to stand. Pulling me into him, he wraps his arms around me.

_I don't know how many times I have to explain this to you ... _Emmett_ is her dad. She can't even remember me. And I'm perfectly fine with that. It's exactly how it should be._

His inner voice is confident, but still I feel his lament. While I do believe he doesn't feel like he's truly a dad, I _know_ how deeply he still cares for the girl. I likened it once to a child given up for adoption, and while he didn't deny it, it made him very angry with me. I think, perhaps, he felt I was second guessing the path he chose — that is, me. And though it was difficult for me to accept, I believe him when he tells me, _shows_ me, that he made the right choice for him. I'm just not always sure he realizes that I _do_ understand his choice was not without cost.

It is for this reason that I exploit my own gift to find him comfort in the moment. My lips find their way to the shell of his ear. "I can read Alice's thoughts, you know," I tell him.

He tenses so minutely, a human could not have felt it. A rapid-fire flash of guilt, sadness, and excitement all rolled into one bounces off of me, despite his attempt to tamper it.

_How could you possibly single her out among so many — and at this distance?_ he thinks, snorting in punctuation. He radiates anticipation, in spite of himself.

I sigh dramatically before speaking aloud, as if to myself. "He doubts me ... so sad." The rumble of laughter in his chest vibrates under my palm, and it warms me from within. I can't help but to chuckle happily. "I can't read her _perfectly_ well, but after thirty years with it, I _may_ have become accustomed to fine-tuning such a gift," I reason smugly.

"Oh, it's a _gift_ now?" he teases back, delicious amusement in his voice.

"_You're_ the gift," I say immediately, without prior thought.

He blinks wide, a bashful grin slowly taking over his gorgeous face against his will. I wish for the millionth time I could see him blush again, but I will have to accept the memory of it.

"You make everything seem brighter," I confess, my mouth tipping to mirror him, though I am sure my joy is greater. "Including my ability."

"Stop it before I throw up that mountain lion I drained this morning," he deadpans, though he plants a short yet lingering kiss on my lips. "And you say _I'm_ corny," he adds quietly, his eyes twinkling.

I think back to our hunt just after dawn, remembering when I paid no mind to the possibility of surviving off the blood of animals. Carlisle had tried for a time to convince me to adapt to his way of life — after all, he'd been successfully "vegetarian," as he liked to joke, for well over two hundred years. Until Jasper, I ignored any advice the Cullens had to give out of sheer spite and will. When he found me again, I had new reason to give it a try. While the thirst isn't completely sated, it's more easily ignored when I have the pure acceptance and love of the man whose arms surround me now.

Sighing, he snaps me out of my strange reverie. His resolution snapped, he gives in to his curiosity. With his crooked smile zeroed in on me, I am perfectly disarmed.

"OK, tell me. I know you won't be able to stop yourself anyway," he teases, pretending he's doing me a favor.

Focusing back on the microscopic face in the crowd, I work to filter out the rest. It _is_ quite a distance, but it's not impossible. Rosalie's life (the biggest and the smallest moments, equally important to a mother) are cycling through the forefront of Alice's mind.

_First steps, first baby tooth lost, first day of school, winning moments playing basketball, soccer, and track. Prom, boyfriends, the time she cut her long locks short and dyed them black (she'd have looked like a boy were she not so beautiful and ... well, the ample chest helped with that as well). Her acceptance to Columbia, Stanford, and Harvard on the same day ... she chose Columbia. Her thirteenth birthday when she woke her parents by driving her dad's restoration-in-process Army Jeep through the garage door. Her subsequent interest in mechanics and fixing up cars — much to dad's delight._

The string of imagery continues, and with every cherished memory, my lips speak quickly, tickling Jasper's ear as he continues to watch, rapt with every word until Alice's train of thought catches up to the present, watching her daughter throw her cap in the air along with her classmates.

Jasper sucks in a quick, unnecessary breath, the emotion and pride caught high in his chest. He whispers a heartfelt "Thank you, baby," in my ear before turning to watch for himself. I close my eyes again, tuning in to Jasper, whose gaze and attention remain centered on his human family's celebrations.

_Alice and Emmett push excitedly through the crowd of people toward their daughter. Reaching her, Emmett picks up his "Baby Girl!" and squeezes her in a bear hug until she smacks his back in protest. Alice grabs her daughter, so much taller than her mother, from his grip and hugs her tightly as her tears begin again. Rosalie rolls her eyes, Alice shushes her._

Jasper laughs, but there is a sadness that troubles him, weighing on his shoulders. His arms pull me tighter into his side. I squeeze him back, my hand finding its way over his heart and my cheek to his shoulder.

_As the family chatters and congratulates the graduate, there is a strange pause. Alice tugs at her husband's shoulder, earning her an ear. A quick whisper and the two turn._

His fingers dig painfully into my shoulderblade, distracting me from gleaning what he's seen.

"What?" I ask, concerned and unable to focus enough to dive back in. He doesn't answer, but he gasps, a strangled sob dying in his chest, but rising again as a singular, surprised laugh.

"What?!" I ask again, more insistent, employing my knowledge of his few weaknesses by tickling his underarm.

_Dammit!_ he hisses internally as his body jerks. He's still irritated that even as a "fictional creature" (as he sometimes teasingly refers to us), he is as ticklish as he was human. _Unfair advantage, baby._

"What. Did. You. See?!" I demand quietly, leaning in to nip his ear, my nose running along the shell until I reach his chin. I kiss its edge.

Tilting his face so that he can give me his kiss fully, he mentally rewinds to play it for me. The kiss is slow, barely moving, but so charged. It is simply his connection, his touch that grounds me ... always. I think it does the same for him. I shift within his hold, pressing our chests together and tightening the embrace we share. He drops his forehead against mine.

_Alice and Emmett look up. They seem to be searching the stands, but no ... their collective gaze rises higher. Alice gestures with her hand, her fingers spreading in an approximating gesture as she speaks into his ear. The pair smiles broadly (if a little bittersweetly, judging by their watery eyes) and give a little wave._

It is my turn to gasp, and I pull back to look at Jasper. He's already registered my shock, and smiles in response. I continue to stare at him, overcome with amazement and admittedly a modicum of fear. _How_ could she even think—?

Before I can finish the thought, he lifts an exposed arm to the sun and watches the shimmer of our skin perform its prismatic dance. I turn the idea about in my mind, but it still seems too far a reach. "Would she really make such a connection?" I question.

_I know,_ he says, shrugging noncommittally. _But she ... I could always bet on Alice._

My expression softens as I watch his, scanning him for how he's feeling. He hates when I'm overly attentive in that way, but I can't help it.

"Are you ... are you okay, love?" I ask, failing in this moment to pick up any such signals as to the effect this has all had on him.

He closes his eyes, softly reconnecting his forehead to mine.

_Emmett turns back to his daughter who snuggles happily into his side, resting her head on his shoulder as he beams. Alice's gaze remains ... on us? She heaves in a deep, steadying breath with a hand on her heart before kissing her palm and sending it toward us with a heavy smile._

"I don't even know how to feel about it," he tells me, and I am washed with his confusion, his joy and sadness, his guilt and pride.

"Do you think Emmett knows ... what we are?" I ask, curious, but not altogether too concerned.

He considers it, but ultimately remains impassive for what feels like several minutes. He shakes his head finally. "I don't know. She trusts him enough to tell him the truth, but even then what is that?" He seems to unravel slightly, tensing and clenching his jaw, but his eyes drift to the ground. "I get the feeling like ... I think maybe she told him — maybe even Rosalie, too — that I was ... that I'm dead."

His words are strangely devoid of emotional affect and that worries me. I grab his face and try to force his gaze from his feet. "Look at me, sweetheart," I whisper. "Please."

After several extended moments, he meets my eyes.

"What?" I say, the word dressed more like a statement than a question.

"It makes perfect sense," he confesses, but his face is sad. "To tell the whole truth would be not only unnecessary, but possibly dangerous. I shudder to think of the Italians coming after them like they did that French woman Carlisle had told us about. Alice doesn't know exactly what we are, anyway. You read that in her mind, didn't you?"

I nod, but add, "Her mind was pretty ... jumbled at the moment. To be fair, I wasn't entirely focused on her."

"Well, I think she knows that whatever it is she _does_ actually understand about us shouldn't be casual conversation."

I wait patiently, knowing there's more. He's calming, beginning to settle into a certain contentment.

"But she still seemed to _know,_ didn't she?" he asks, not really asking. "Like she was looking right at us! I swear my heart did a little flip. This feeling, it's too big. It's like ... _everything_ all at once."

The corners of my mouth turn upward knowingly. "That's how I felt when ... that is, _since_ you showed up in my life again," I say, thinking how turbulent my emotions were the moment I opened the door of my house — now ours, a house we still occupy from time to time. "Something like that, anyway. You made me _feel_ _everything_. My wildest dream and some of my nightmares come to life, if that makes sense. I mean, _you_ weren't a nightma—"

He stops me with his lips, which I do not mind in the least. I grin against his kiss before engaging myself heartily. My eternal desire for this man wars with my ability to concentrate on anything else but him. When his tongue delves into my mouth and flicks my incisor, a thread of restraint snaps and I reflexively tackle him to the ground, grumbling, "Cheeky."

Smug, he smirks at his running joke, having nicked his lips and tongue against my teeth a few times while still human. Never one to let him gloat very long, I crush my mouth over his, relishing still the freedom of losing control with him. Something I had never been able to do, even when _I_ was human.

"Mmmm, I love you, Edward," he murmurs, easily flipping me onto my back.

He kisses me softly, brushing his lips across mine, feathery caresses down my chin, my neck ... and then he is gone. I jolt upright, a bit bewildered, but waste no time to leap into the sea of Redwoods after him.

As he gives chase and I follow, my prior train of thought catches up with me, running parallel with my longing for him. It all seems full-circle. When I had given up at seventeen, I'd given _him_ up, too. My heaven for my hell. When he showed up on my doorstep, it was an angel sent to absolve a demon.

And he knows. He has known all along why I had tried to force him away, yet was unable to let him go. It was _my_ guilt and regrets that gave his arrival at my door any kind of black mark. I had fought against him _and _myself every minute until he forced me to see that torment was really hope in disguise. All of this, he knows and has forgiven.

Not that it's perfect. Neither of us have come out unscathed, but together, we move forward and allow what's past to be past, hurt and all.

As the stadium and his call on the past dwindles in the fading skyline, I catch up with my present and forever future, tackling him with vigor (and taking out a slew of trees in the process). His resulting laugh is strong enough to lift the heavy thoughts that slowed me down.

His fingers eagerly thread into my hair, tugging the ends while his thumbs rub behind my ears. "Hi," he breathes before kissing me again.

I dissolve into him, the world around us disappearing as I marvel what his touch always does to me. The boy I was had been amazed and terrified at the power of the lust as well as the love he stirred in me — and all the same that he offered in return. So many years and space between then and now ... yet anything I had felt _then_ is dwarfed by how I feel now. Our bond has only grown.

Lips and hands, we writhe and slide, grinding and tearing at each other's clothes. He slaps my hands away when I reach for his fly, a wicked simper flashing up at me. My jeans seem to disappear in the blink of an eye, following the scraps of my shirt that he'd already removed.

"Jas," I pant, asking, declaring, and reaching for him simultaneously.

_I know_, he tells me ... with his mind, his eyes, his hands, his lips. When he takes me in his mouth, I am undone.

An educated lover, he teases and works me expertly, bringing me to the brink and back, but never letting me fall. I reach to brush the hair from his eyes, to take in the sight of him as he takes me in. The touch of my hand sets off a gentle hum that increases in magnitude until I'm forced magnificently into orgasm.

Barely descended from the high, I pull him on top of me, kissing his face, his lips, his neck. Chuckling darkly, he tells me, _I'm not done with you by a mile, sweetheart._

I shiver involuntarily, anticipating the next round. Before I know it, he's pulled me to standing. I waste no time in divesting him of his shirt, but it is he who grips my wrist and slowly slides my hand into his pants. I grip him gently at first, circling him, holding him, coaxing him — unblinking, his eyes on mine. His palms smooth over my naked skin, everywhere, before sliding over my ass and back around my hips.

Breaking our staredown, he closes his mouth over mine, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, hard and fast, but very slowly pulls back. Pressing a full kiss into my lips, he spins me quickly, my hands forced off of him and into the bark of a massive old tree. My excitement peaks and I reach one arm behind me to touch, to feel, to bring him closer.

"No, don't," he commands gently, pressing himself against my back, pinning me. His fingers tease me, lightly touching and tracing, then entering and stretching. "I want you to feel me."

My breath accelerates, and a moan escapes. "I _do_," I say. "I always do."

He chuckles quietly. "No, baby. I mean _just_ feel me. All of me."

Though I find it a vague explanation, I really couldn't care less. I want him so badly, I wouldn't care if I were completely bound and gagged. I _need_ him right now.

And then I do. I _feel_ him. A wave of desire so potent, so full of love and tenderness and violent passion storms through me, it is painfully clear what he meant. It's then that he stops teasing and pushes inside me, filling me slowly. My eyes shut as if instinctively, the sensation and the emotion overwhelming me to the point I wonder if one of our kind has ever passed out. I laugh grotesquely, the noise completely out of place, but it earns a nip at my shoulder, followed by his tongue along my neck.

His lips at my ear, he whispers his every thought so that I hear him in stereo. Every dirty, beautiful, loving thing in his head at the moment, and at the speed of light — I miss none of it, but the words and images coupled with his physical and emotional gifts turn my lolling grin into a gasp of painful ecstasy. The next sound I hear is the bark and meat of the tree cracking and crumbling under the pressure of my hands as he pulls out slower than he went in.

"I love you, baby," he growls, predatorily and possessively as he owns me, moving and thrusting in earnest. His voice is aggressive and gruff, but I hear and feel nothing but the truth of his words. By his every move and touch, the world (and the tree) fall away, coming apart in our wake.

As he takes me over, feeding and giving love, I am consumed by him — by _feeling_ him. At some point, one might expect never to reach new heights with their soulmate, but we do, together. And it never fails to amaze and soothe me.

"I love you so much, Jasper," I say, a hardly-intelligible post-coital exhale.

My declaration, though nothing newsworthy, unleashes a wave of happiness from him matched by no other being in my human or vampire life so far.

Later, as we find our way toward home, I marvel at our story: where we began and how we came to be as we are now. Sometimes I really don't understand how, but he has taken my darkness and turned it inside out. He refused my regrets and reinvigorated a piece of my soul that had hidden away under a heart caved in. The infinite hours and minutes in our life together since have been filled with words and lips, hands and lust, love and healing. So much healing — for both of us.

Being damned had never been such a blessing until Jasper saved me, and shock of all, I was able to give him back my whole heart and to both of us, peace.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. Thanks to Nae & Mal for masterbeta'ing ;P and espesh to Nae for the "homework" and for pushing me to finish these boys' journey. It was more than I planned for but totally worth it. XOXO**


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